


Living with Wolves

by sheswalkinginbeauty



Category: Jurassic Park - All Media Types, Jurassic World - Fandom, Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Claire Dearing, Alpha Owen, Alpha Owen Grady, Alternate Universe - Jurassic World Fusion, Bossy Claire Dearing, CEO Owen, Claire Dearing - Freeform, Claire and Owen - Freeform, Clawen, Corporate Owen, Dominant Owen, F/M, Jurassic Park AU, Jurassic Park Series, Jurassic World AU, Office Romance, Owen x Claire - Freeform, Protective Owen, clawen au, dominant Claire, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 20:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheswalkinginbeauty/pseuds/sheswalkinginbeauty
Summary: If exchanging his heavy and mud-drenched boots for Italian whole cut brogues was torture enough, he was clearly mistaken because there’s something about Claire Dearing’s ability to handle herself that keeps one former navy soldier on his toes.





	1. Alpha meets Alpha

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of Clawen fic then got this inspiration from Ne-Yo's song "Miss Independent". This is my first Clawen fic, so please tell me what you think. :)

* * *

  **ALPHA MEETS ALPHA**

A wolf pack has a definite social structure and rules of conduct. The pack leaders are the alpha male and female. These two animals are dominant over all the other wolves in the pack. 

* * *

**Chapter 1**

“My apologies gentlemen, I’m not usually late.” All heads whipped around the sudden opening of the door. 

Amidst the proposal of new budget campaigns by a skinny kid in a sports jacket, Owen Grady’s then sleepy eyes focused on the woman he hasn’t seen before.

Dressed in an all-white ensemble, her strong fiery hair trailed just a bit below her shoulders, porcelain span of skin and swan-like neck visible from the blazer and long skirt she’s wearing. An air of I-own-this-fucking-room hangs about her as Owen’s gaze followed the stranger. ”No, you don’t sweetheart.” He thought in a very cocky manner. He was unaware that he stopped tapping his pen or the slight parting of his mouth while watching her strode across the room. 

The echoes of her heels reverberated on the floor tiles of the conference room. Surely, everybody was just transfixed on her as much as him because everyone stayed quiet till she sat at the reserved seat at the far end on his right. No one bothered to make the proper introductions for him. He saw her raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows at the kid whose name he forgot. 

“Connor, please, proceed.” The red-haired woman said quite pointedly. 

Poor Connor who was stunned for a second and all but scrambled for the file of papers in front of him, his pen fell to the floor and he hit his head on the table when he picked it up, clearly fazed by this intriguing woman. Owen felt sorry for the kid. 

“At ease Connor. I’m sure she doesn’t bite.” Owen joked trying to lighten the mood that befell on the room since her arrival. 

That seemed to work because every man in the room laughed, everyone except her. Owen noted. Not that he’s looking at her again.  Connor smiled at him as he pushed his glasses on his nose and continued. 

“Furthermore, we acquired 64% of our revenue from last month--” 

Connor’s prepared speech had dulled when he met the stranger’s penetrating scrutiny. 

The only woman in a roomful of powerful and influential men in the business. From his seat on his father’s chair, she faced him. if she didn’t notice Owen from her entrance, she does now. On the other hand, all Owen could think was ‘’Fucking hell.”  

She was exquisite. 

Her short and straight hair framed her delicate face, he can’t see the color of her eyes from the distance but it nailed him completely immobile to the leather seat. A slightly upturned nose, a jaw line that appeared extremely sharp; he would happily cut himself repeatedly while running his fingers along its angle, an adorable cleft and proud chin and lipstick stained lips that Owen imagined ruining with reckless kisses. 

She looked away and focused on the bar graphs on Connor’s slide, taking notes now and then. Her phone, notepad, and pens placed neatly on her area on the table. 

Momentarily agitated by some unknown reason, he cleared his throat, sat straighter and paid attention to the screen in the conference room. 

If anyone told him he’s  gonna be sitting on the Chairman’s chair a year from now, he would laugh his ass off then shove his foot right on their mouths. Not that the idea of air-conditioned rooms and spreadsheets don’t interest him but he craved the uncertainty and thrill of his parallel universe more. A life without owning mega-million-dollar companies, without expensive cars or luxurious vacations, humongous residences or special treatments. He didn’t like being chased around with golden spoons.  Hence, he joined the navy, the profession that was close to him by heart.  And he didn’t regret it for a single bit.  

At such a young age, he knew he had a bigger house than his classmates and friends, yet didn’t grow up a brat. Mrs. Grady made sure of that. Owen was enrolled in a public school, took the bus every day to school (until he was given a Benz- the family’s heirloom- when he turned 16) and during summer vacations he would be hired to any job openings his dad’s companies would offer. When he went to college, he applied and became a part-time associate in Grady Corp. His parents always emphasized and taught him the beauty of a simple life and for that, he was eternally grateful. 

When he told his dad that he wants to join the navy, Senior Grady was supportive. “I knew you’ll take after your mom.” He even wore an embarrassing Proud Navy Dad” shirt to the office on many occasions and when he called him during special occasions via video calls. Owen could always count that his father would be there smiling proudly at him  whenhe looked back.   

Settling in a much simpler and serene life, living in his grandparent’s house and farm on the country suited Owen just fine. When he’s not serving his country, he would tend to his farm animals and sometimes train dogs for the military. It was bliss. 

Until his Dad’s lawyer and close friend called him. Having just landed from serving his tour and losing some of his troops, He wasn’t ready to hear another bad news. Nevertheless, he gathered his innate and pent-up courage, hopped in his grandfather’s old Mercedes and drove an hour to the city. 

He loved his old man. Even with business tycoons bowing at his feet, Alan Grady remained grounded and benevolent. So that tumor that ended his life was such a cruel punishment for a man who lived his entire life helping others. 

Her mom, may God also bless her soul, a loving woman and notable army lieutenant, succumbed to her injuries from a car crash when he was just 10 years old.  Hence, Owen grew up with only his dad who never remarried. 

The elder Grady didn’t have the guts to tell Owen until his three-month mark. He said he doesn’t want his son to see another parent die in front of his eyes. And that was enough to make the grown man cry. 

On his deathbed, his hand clasped by his son, he told Owen that being his only heir and family, Owen will inherit the biggest share in all of their group of companies, but he wasn’t bound to take over the business if he doesn’t want to. He’s still free to do whatever he desires and he’ll be well provided for.  

And Owen just shook his head at him, not letting him finish and trying in vain to keep his tears at bay. Of course, he will take over, his dad doesn’t have to imply or even ask. And Senior Grady was silent for a moment but thanked him. Not for Owen’s recent agreement to handle the business but thanked him just for being his son. 

His only regret in life (he told Owen this) was not being able to see his future grandchildren.  Lightly smacking his son’s head for this with whatever strength he still has, he said “Get out there and stop fooling around.’’  Owen chuckled despite being teary-eyed. “One day you’re  gonna meet someone and she’ll knock you down on your stubborn ass. “ 

The familiar and prideful smile lingered on his withered lips even after he finally closed his eyes. 

“I need a full decent report on this proposal first thing in the morning.” The red-headed woman reiterated from her seat, interrupting Owen’s trip to memory lane. 

“But-” 

“Spare me details of your incompetence Mr. Peters, just get it done.” 

Wow. She is feisty. Owen took a quick glance at Lowery, who had a sneer on his face and slowly nodding at him as if saying “She barely even started.” 

Connor turned beet red before muttering a “Yes, Miss Dearing.” 

Owen’s eyes bulged for a bit. Apprehension dawning on him. Ah, so this is the infamous Claire Dearing. Owen had an instinct that she might be. He heard enough stories about the company’s resident shrew (as what his friend and designated assistant, Lowery Cruthers  monickered her) whether be it in the halls, the elevators, between meetings and colleague dinners. 

Owen found himself getting more curious as Lowery provided him four-year worth of company tête-à-tête. His dad never told him about her during one of their conversations. “What the hell was that about, Dad.” He wanted to say. 

He was yet to meet the person behind the whispers and praises of his clients and subordinates, was curious to know who could might as well change the company name from Grady Corporations to Dearing’s Fucking Playground if she so desired, considering that she was responsible for the company’s high net worth, investors and sales spikes over the past years but most importantly he was anxious to thank the thoughtful person who sent such beautiful sympathy wreaths of his parents” favorite flowers for his dad’s funeral. 

He heard that she was in France for half a year already, settling business arrangements when he took over the company, two weeks after his father’s funeral. And now, here she stood before him, looking all immaculate and stirring all kinds of hell in him that he has yet to discover. 

“-However, I have a few suggestions.” She stood from her seat with the grace of a queen and trotted towards the largest monitor. Owen found himself staring at her again while she pointed out alternatives and eventual loopholes. She’s undoubtedly a woman of style and substance. 

 Connor nodded with nervous enthusiasm on her every word. Some men joined and voiced out their agreements as well, their earlier jitters dissipating. 

“Here boss,” Lowery whispered suddenly, leaning sideways to drop a black handkerchief in front of Owen. “You got a little drool over there.” he gestured to the side of his mouth and tried to repress his chuckle before turning his attention back to the screen. 

Owen scowled loud enough for the room to hear. All heads turned to him. Dearing’s eyes penetrating him the most. 

“You don’t approve Owen?” Connor queried from where he had resumed his seat.  

“No. No. I mean everything sounds great, however. Could someone give me this year’s and last year’s investor relations reports, I only have the ones from-” He trailed off, Lowery handing him his tablet. 

 “-the first quarter of this year. Before we agree on taking any actions, I need to review that. “Owen concluded. 

For starters, he actually knew what he’s talking about. Having studied Business Management for the first three years of college before shifting his major to Behavioral Studies then enlisting in the Navy two years after his graduation. 

“Claire could help you.” Simon Masrani, one of his dad’s best friends and  board of directors chipped in, angling his swivel chair on Owen. 

“Of course, but who’s Claire now?” He asked dubiously although he knew perfectly who that was, he just wanted to see if he can get under her skin. His gaze deliberately avoiding her. 

Lowery let out a snicker before covering it with a cough. The room fell silent once more, colleagues caught each other’s nervous glances. Simon made no effort to answer his godson’s question but his eyes were twinkling with delight, his fingers curled around his lips. 

“Mr. Grady, I don’t think we’ve met.” She declared in that daunting tone of hers, holding her chin up a bit higher and clasping her long fingers together. 

Owen finally acknowledged the Aphrodite in the room, standing on the opposite side of the table, across from him. He allowed himself to linger once more on her figure. 

“Oh, you ’re Claire ?” He feigned surprise. “Well then, I’m Owen.” His hands pointed to himself in an introductory manner. 

“I know who you are Mr. Grady.” Claire quipped, struggling not to roll her eyes. 

“Please, call me Owen. So?” He raised one eyebrow at her, smiling smugly at her at the end of the table. 

“So” what Mr. Grady?” the way her sultry voice coiled around his surname was like honey yet, her expressions remained cold and him, surprisingly like it.  

“When can you hand me the report?” He leaned back on his chair, pushed his chair away from the table to rest his left ankle on his right knee.

“You can expect it no later than tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Tomorrow?  “ He clicked his tongue and slanted his head at her, his eyes challenging. “See, that wouldn’t work for me. Miss Dearing. I would appreciate it a wee bit earlier.” 

Lowery lightly kicked his foot under the table like some sort of warning. 

“I’ll be sure to give it to you before the day ends then, Mr. Grady,” Claire exclaimed in a very polite way, that it seemed fake. 

“Call me Owen, sweetheart. Mr. Grady is my granddad.” A mild irritation lurking in his voice at her lack of disobedience. 

“Okay.” Claire hummed Her red, red lips in a tight, horizontal line. 

“Great.” Crossing his arms in front of him, he pushed on, waiting for her to do what he just asked her. 

“Fantastic.” 

“Outstanding.” The corner of his lips twitched with burgeoning interest. 

“Is there anything else you would need Mr. Grady? 

The committee held their breaths as they watch the first interaction between their top superiors. 

They know of Owen from when he used to tag along with his dad in business matters years before he shipped to some war zone for the navy. They’re aware of the boy growing up and having both of his parents” strong set of personalities: a master of obstinate-ness and compulsion. Attributes that sometimes drove their former CEO out of his mind and what they heard had kept him alive during his Navy days. 

On the other hand, they know of Claire Dearing, the Claire Dearing who finished two majors at Harvard at the same time with honors, Alan Grady’s trusted second-in-command, the person primarily accountable for keeping Grady Corporation afloat, the one you won’t want to mess around with for it’ll probably be the last thing you ever will do. Two people from opposite sides of the spectrum; the ice and the fire, their virtues, and principles sundered by being raised in perfectly different circumstances and environment yet shared one common yet deadly trait that can either be their doom or their new source of entertainment: a penchant need to control. They are two alphas determined to win dominance over the other. 

After a moment of overwhelming silence, Owen stood up from his seat, leaning forward, he fisted his hands on the table and all the while still holding Claire’s affixed and ambiguous glare. He smirked. 

“Meeting adjourned. Thank you, everybody, for your time.”  

Everyone was eagerly gathering their things and bee-lining for the door. 

“Well, while this has been utterly... delightful….” Simon muttered to Owen who was putting all his paperwork in his backpack.  “Claire, won’t you come here.” 

Owen didn’t look up from his task but did when the toe box of her nude stilettos came into his view. 

“I want to you to meet Alan’s son… er formally. This is Owen.” He stood between the two and patted his left hand on Owen’s right shoulder. 

Standing a few good inches below him-even with her heels-he can smell the wisp of her vanilla scented lotion. From up close, she looked even more ethereal. Radiant even, Reminding him of such pleasant times. 

Like how her hair was the color combination of all the red-orange flowers at his mom’s garden where he and his mom used to run around. Or how her eyes reminded him of the thick green foliage of the camping site he and his dad used to go fishing. Tiny specks of golden freckles on her cheeks and nose were visible despite her light makeup. The curvy bow of her lips was sinful and unforgiving. 

Owen is certain he will have haunting dreams about those lips. 

“There’s no need for that Simon but it’s nice to meet you. “she trained her eyes on him. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, Claire.” He replied, his calloused hand engulfed her warm dainty ones, grasping it lightly. 

“And I would like to offer my late condolences.” He noted the softness that passed her features at the mention of his dad’s latest passing. 

He appreciated it.  

“Claire, I want you to bring him in, continue showing him the ropes.” 

“What? Why can’t you do it?” She turned to Simon, bewilderment laced her voice. 

“My resignation my dear Claire. In two weeks, I’m off to the world.” Simon  extolled ; his eyes gleamed with excitement at the two of them. 

Unlike her, Owen knew this. He knew the agreement between his dad and his godfather. On his hospital bed, His dad summoned Simon Masrani and made the latter promise to file his resignation in the following months to live the pleasure of life before it was too late. They weren’t getting any younger, he said. Claire remained silent but nodded and smiled at the kind man. 

“I should be going. Hold the door would you Mr. Cruthers.” he motioned for Lowery who was talking to someone on the phone and was about to leave the room to achieve a better cellphone reception. 

“Owen… and Claire, welcome back.” Simon nodded at the two before exiting the conference room, Lowery trailing behind him and letting the door close itself. 

And then there were two.  

She went back to her seat to retrieve the stacks of folders handed to her all throughout the meeting, all the while typing something on her cell. Owen reached for the remote control so he could switch off the monitors. He doesn’t have to do  it ; he was sure that the maintenance guys always clean up after every meeting. But he suddenly had an inkling to do their job for them. He fumbled with the control for the window blinds for a bit, muttering a curse when the device rang a deep error sound.  

“Shit!” 

“You need help with that?” He looked up and noticed Claire was already just a few distances away from him, her stance remained cool, calm, and collected. 

“Nope. I got it.” He pressed another button and the blinds started to go down, slowly shadowing the room from the city view. 

“See?” He assured her and carefully dropped the remote on the table. 

She rolled her eyes at him and made her way towards the door. 

 ”I look forward to working with you, by the way.” He leered at her, and with that Claire halted midway and turned squarely at him, with a look that was meant to scare him, he reckoned. 

“Let me get something straight Mr. Grady.” She sauntered over to him. He tried not to stare at the alluring way her hips swayed and focused on her eyes instead to distract him from, well, her. It didn’t help. 

“If you’re one of the assholes who will try to  belittle me, you better find yourself another hobby because I am not going anywhere. “Her deep forest green eyes boring into his sea greens, both un-blinking and unnerving. 

Owen was slightly taken aback by such blatant accusations. Not that he didn’t expect it. Being in the business for so long, she must have at least a dozen people every day belittling her just cause she’s a woman. But no. Owen was, won’t and never will be on that idiot list. She had earned his respect (something he prided himself on not giving away freely) upon reading and studying the company statistics given to him by his staff. Her clean signature marked most of the papers that his dad never got to sign during his hospitalization. 

He wanted to defend himself but held his tongue. No matter how wrong she was to think that lowly of him, goading her seemed much more fascinating. Besides, she doesn’t look like the type who’s easily appeased with sweet talks. 

“Such indict Miss Dearing. You don’t know me yet.” The corners of his mouth quirked up afterward. His interest and wonder with this woman growing rapidly by each passing minute. 

“I don’t look forward to babysitting you.  But unless you know how to properly run this company, I will endure just that. I”m not letting you burn this place to the ground.”   She surmised in that authoritative and calm voice of hers, her eyes never leaving his. 

“Fantastic. How about we discuss this over dinner?” he reiterated smoothly, smiling smugly at her once again. 

She snubbed and gave him a slow once over. From his wrinkled basic white shirt, brown cargo shorts and are those… boat shoes? 

She raised her eyebrows and scoffed at him “Have a Good day Mr. Grady.” She turned to leave and almost bumped with Lowery who flattened himself against the door and immediately looked anywhere but her. 

“Good gracious man, what the heck did you do? Don’t anger it.” Lowery stated once she’s out of earshot, leaning on the door open for Owen. 

Owen shrugged and quickly asked, “What time’s my free schedule tomorrow?” he dug deep into his pockets to retrieve his phone. 

“Uhhh. Let’s see.  You got another meeting tomorrow morning with Verizon but they always talk nonsense after each meeting but I can get you out at...  12:00 to 13:00, then you have to meet new bidders at 14:00 with Zara but her Claire is back so you’ll be doing it with her instead.” He narrated off from the calendar on his tablet. 

“Okay.” he nodded before holding his phone near his mouth and adding: 

“Find the nearest Tailor shop,” Owen spoke, tucking in his sunglasses in the collar of his shirt and walked past Lowery. The automated response muffled as he walked back to his office.  

Unbeknownst to him, Lowery remained at the spot, took out his stylus pencil from his breast pocket, accessed the Notes application on his tablet and added another numeral after Claire’s name: 

Claire Dearing- II 

Owen Grady- I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if it's feels like all cramped into one. it's supposed to be oneshot only but while writing it, I gained a few more ideas (which are kinda sexy ones too). So, if anyone liked this, I could probably do more. The rating would change too.  
> But this was fun. Please correct me for any grammatical errors or anything. :)


	2. She-Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you so much for reading this and the reviews! and I apologize for the delay, I can't believe it's been almost a month. I was trying to aim more than 3k words per chapter, but in doing so got me to 6k. Also, I haven't read the Evolution of Claire yet, I just read some spoilers and decided to put some of them here.

* * *

** SHE-WOLF **

**There are plenty of wonderful things to say about wolves, about the way they communicate and care for each other. Unfortunately, the competition for the alpha female is not one of those things. There is no way to sugarcoat it. It is a brutal competition for the right to pass on one’s genes. The males are comparatively laid back, sorting out their status through threats and bluff. The females draw blood.**

**(www.livingwithwolves.org)**

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 2**   

   
 

There are a thousand words that best describe Claire Dearing yet there were only three that she prided herself in learning at such a young age.  

   
 

One, she was determined, yes. A trait she learned from her estranged father who worked as a banker for most of her life. She remembered the time when a hardware store wouldn’t exchange a faulty drill, they sold his dad. The item had already passed its 6-month warranty period and Mr. Ron Dearing, who won’t take no for an answer, negotiated his way around the staff to exchange the item (which he never got to use by the way) for a newer one. At the end of the lengthy discussion, he got the branch manager to apologize to him, trade the drill for an unimpaired one, and even got discount coupons for the rest of the year. “People can always be persuaded kiddo, you just have to say the right words,” he said to her on more than one occasion.  

   
 

Two, she was passionate. Absolutely. Her mom worked as a History professor at a local college. Sometimes, due to unavailability of baby sitters, the Dearing youngsters would come along and join their mom in her lectures. Claire never thought that the sweet and angel of a woman that she knew at home could be intimidating in front of an audience. The amphitheater halted on its track, everyone clambering skittishly for their respective seats upon her arrival. And the moment she started her lecture, there was no denying that she was born to do this. Claire could feel each person in the room hanging to her every word and even though Claire didn’t understand one word her mom taught to her class that day, she couldn’t forget the way Professor Dearing captivated the crowd with just her transparent passion and strong presence. And she bowed to be like her when she grows up.   

   
 

And lastly, she was punctual. Oh, hell yeah, she was. Claire followed a carefully calculated routine every day in order toachieve that discipline. A routine she perfected since she was 19. She would wake up at 6:00am sharp, put on her running gear that she already prepared on the bench by her bed the night before. She would run circles around the park, and as if her trained mind and body knew when her running watch was close to that one-hour mark, she would head back to her condominium and get ready for another day at work. She would be taking a 10-minute shower and put on a robe while she ate her breakfast which consisted of whatever was next on her meal plan. Today, it was a healthy mix of low-fat frozen yogurt, oats, and berries. Simultaneously munching on her breakfast and checking her journal for today’s events, she received an urgent call from Zara, her assistant of two years, informing her of a crisis at the office and an emergency meeting set by Owen. Claire cursed, she still has a good 15-minute to finish her morning routine and drive to work. She dumped her half-eaten breakfast in the fridge and hastily dress up for work. Screw straightening her hair, she would be caught dead first before being late for a commitment.   

 

* * *

  
He’s late. Why is he always late? Claire thought darkly, digging her perfectly manicured fingernails on her hand to keep herself from combusting. She made it on time, having a few minutes to spare and do her make-up at the restroom lobby of their building. But Owen Grady is late. Owen Grady is fucking late for another meeting. Again. For the umpteenth time. She stared at her phone on top of the table, waiting for an alert of explanation or some kind from him or Lowery. She glanced at the Senior Creative Manager, IT department head and their teams from her seat in the conference room. They huddled on the opposite side of the table, typing furiously on their laptops, talking among themselves and hadn’t looked and talked to her since their “Good morning Miss Dearing.” She had a nagging impression that they were just busying themselves so they can avoid talking to her. And she doesn’t blame them, because her foul and hungry mood was threatening to burst any second now.   

   
 

A slight misunderstanding in their marketing department had occurred with someone accidentally releasing an early (and kind of insensitive) draft of their new advertising campaign. Good thing their IT department had pulled it out before it went viral. But not before reaching two of their future sponsors who were thinking of backing out from their company. Hence, the 8 am meeting in the morning.   

   
 

And he called himself from the navy. Aren’t they supposed to always be on time? She silently weighed her options if they could just get on with it without Owen. But she knew, she can’t. Simon Masrani’s parting piece of advice on his last day at the office was still ringing in her ears, “You could use the help, Claire. You both do. Just give him a chance.” She tried calling the sponsors to explain but to no avail, they were either on a meeting or busy. She exhaled and tried to appease herself by staring aimlessly at the 360-degree view of the city surrounding them.   

   
 

Not to be tooting her own horn, but Claire could say that she deserved the seat at the other end of the CEO’s chair; she had made a number of considerable contributions for this company for the past years. Her late and beloved mentor, Alan Grady having enormous faith in her counsel and intuition had trusted her decisions since day one. She smiled as she remembered the old and generous man. When she started in Grady Corp., she was a wide-eyed and hungry nobody, in awe by the parade of business suits, spreadsheets, and board rooms.   

   
 

Now, 7 years after, through a handful of overtime work, zero amount of vacation and missed family gatherings, she established a name for herself, no flattery nor sycophancy whatsoever as what most people in the business had presumed. She credited the success she’d attained to herself, but she can admit that without the constant encouragement of Alan Grady, she couldn’t have made it halfway. So how come, that one of the greatest men she couldhave ever known in her life could be related to the most impossible human being?   

   
 

She knew Owen before she even met him with his father always talking about him when the Chairman got the chance. Being Alan Grady’s assistant for a time, she visited his office quite often. He once caught her looking at the picture frames displayed on his bookshelf while she waited for him to finish a meeting.  

 

_“That’s Ellie, she’s the light of my life.” Claire jumped at the voice coming from the doorway. She looked over and saw Alan leaning on the open door with his hands in his pockets._

  


_“Oh, I didn’t notice you were there, I’m sorry Alan, I didn’t mean to intrude.” She hastily placed the picture frame back on top of the console table and looked at her boss, her cheeks the color of her hair._

  


_“It’s fine, it’s fine. Besides, you’re the only person I haven’t introduced yet.” He walked towards her and picked the glass framed portrait of his wife she was holding a few seconds ago._

  


_There had to be at least ten frames of his family on the bookshelf. All of them were Alan, his wife, and a boy. Claire, having some sort of permission now gazed at the pictures with careful consideration, her mind making up scenarios on how these pictures came to be. There were also three children drawings (or scribbles) put in one medium-sized black frame-presumably drawn by his son when he was young small sculptures and a few books and file folders._

  


_“Elizabeth ‘Ellie’ Grady. We met right after college at this convention.”_

  


_“She’s beautiful,” Claire mumbled._

  


_“She really was. And, she’s a tough one too. She was a first army lieutenant before she retired.”  Alan mused, wonderment in his voice._

  


_“Must have been hard for you when she leaves.”_

  


_“Oh yes. But it’s what she loves to do.” He shrugged_

  


_She stopped and picked up another framed photo of his wife carrying the toddler dressed in a camouflage uniform and both were smiling brightly up at her._

  


_“Ah yes, I took that picture myself. The uniform was a gift from Simon. I remember Owen was so excited to put it on, he cried when we try it take it from him. That damned kid.” He gushed and shook his head at the memory._

  


_“Well, I guess he loved it so much that he joined the Navy after a few years.”  He continued, the pride in his tone was clear._

  


_“Oh, so that explains the shirt you sometimes wore.’’  Claire chuckled before putting the frame down and resumed walking along the display of memories._

  


_“Oh yeah, I like wearing it to annoy him, he doesn’t like it, see.” Alan walked past her and grabbed another frame over his head, offering it to Claire. Father and his grown-up son wearing a cap, a tight shirt and board shorts that showed off his lean physique were standing side by side, their arms around each other’s shoulder. Alan was proudly puffing his chest out, a finger-pointing to the capitalized words on his shirt and the left side of his son’s face and laugh caught by the camera._

  


_“You have a lovely family… I’m sorry for your wife.”  Claire said sincerely, handing the frame back to him._

  


_“It’s alright, thank you.” He smiled and looked down at the picture for a moment. “But look at my son, eh? Quite good-looking, am I right?” Waving the frame at her and a childish gleam clear in his green eyes before returning it to its spot. Claire let out a short laugh._

  


_“Shall we go over your schedule for today, Alan?” With a smile still ghosting her lips, she replied and opened his boss’s Filofax._

  


_“I bet you’ll like each other. You two are very much alike.” Alan suggested teasingly while making his way to his desk._   

   
 

Claire didn’t think so. Owen Grady, with his lack of punctuality, unorthodox solutions, his Henley shirts, his endless attempts to flirt with her, the stupid nicknames and that cocky smirk he always seemed to have. Everything in him screamed recklessness and she couldn’t help but inwardly groan at the thought of him.   

   
 

The past weeks had been an excruciating “Let’s-do-this! And “No! Let’s not” contest between the two of them. Claire being the rational one, most of the time. She had lost count of the times that she stormed out of his office before she could haul something at his simpering face. Claire would also catch the employees looking at the two of them, big bright smiles on their faces before she would glower at them until they hurriedly looked or walked the other way.   

   
 

She had never met a man so capable of annoying her let alone hold an argument for a prolonged period. She was aware of the nicknames, accustomed to how everyone would try to avoid her at all cost (if possible). No one in the history of her adulthood had dared to make her ask twice. Until him.   

   
 

If she wasn’t hung up on the fact that he’s making her blood boil for no apparent reason, she would say that he was a breath of fresh air from all the cowering idiots and mindless men she knew.   

   
 

Or admit another fact that he wasn’t bad to look at either. Claire came to know just how much from when they’re shooting daggers at each other during their daily argument.   

   
 

The framed pictures at his former boss’s office did no justice to the fine specimen when she first saw him in person. Over the weeks, she had overheard their women employees giggling over him at the hallways or restrooms and she had to stop herself from leaning her ear on the cubicle door to hear more.  He was strikingly attractive alright. One would say, he’s the complete package. Even when he’s wearing those awful shorts. His rugged-good looks and excellent build exude charm, suave and… something akin to dominance which made her a bit uneasy, therefore annoyed that she’s allowing someone like him to get under her skin and affect her so.   

   
 

Her phone vibrated all of a sudden and she practically leaped up to grab it. In high hopes that she finally reached their future investors or Owen. The unexpected movement made the small crowd in the room flinched away from her in reflex. She smiled inwardly but frowned when she saw her sister’s name beside the little bubble icon.   

   
 

_‘Hey, Claire-bear!’_

_‘NO.’_ Her fingers pressed the two letters with ire before she hit send. Great. Just great. Her phone vibrated again before she can put it   down  

 _‘What? I haven’t said anything yet!’_   

_‘I know what you’re about to say. And the answer is NO. ‘_

_‘But he’s perfect! He’s so much better than the last one. I swear.’_

_‘I’m not going on a blind date that you set up again, Karen.’_ she shuddered thinking about the last guy that her sister had forced her to go on a date with.  Karen had pestered her to try dating again ever since she got back from overseas. It provided a sort of distraction for Karen in coping up with her divorce, according to her. So, as a favor, Claire obliged. For two agonizing times.  

_‘Oh, C'mon baby sis. He’s tall, slim and lean, clean-cut, and writes business letters for a living. ‘_

_‘Sounds like your type of guy, big sis. Why don’t you date him instead?’_

  
Contrary to popular belief, she had dated. Although, you can all count them in one hand. She has over a thousand major priorities and exhausting relationships tend to get in the way of that. Her mom would always commend her on how she’s far too mature and independent for her age, maybe that’s why none of her relationships lasted for over a year. She dated well-equipped and established men who either ceased communication with her or said that she was too controlling and self-reliant. Her job must always come first above everything and anything and if some low-headed Neanderthal cannot appreciate her and her devotion to her career, she’s much better off without them.   

 

 _‘Lol. Fine. But if I’ll be getting something you should too!’_ came her sister’s late reply.   

 _‘I’m good, thanks.’_ she snorted  

_‘Come on Claire-bear! Live a little vicariously. What’s your type now anyways?’_

   
 

“He’s here.” Zara suddenly appeared and announced from the door before she could smart-ass her way out of her sister’s persistent interest in her romantic life. Zara opened the door wider for the new occupants and she placed her phone down, the black screen kissing the solid wooden surface of the oak.   

   
 

Lowery entered first, looking and laughing back at something Owen had read from his phone.   

   
 

“…I’m telling you! The look on his face. Damn it, Owen, you’re officially my man.” Lowery bellowed but stopped himself when he saw Claire standing upright, her arms folded in front of her.  He held his hands up and took cautious steps away from her line of sight, offering Owen.    

   
 

“Would you care to explain how you are 30 minutes late for the meeting you called yourself?” she fumed at him. He looked up upon hearing her voice, stopped and stared at her momentarily. The goofy grin splitting his sun-kissed features.    

   
 

“Good morning to you too, Claire.”  

   
 

“Cut the crap, Mr. Grady.”   

   
 

Instead of walking to the center of the room, to the power seat meant just for him. He treaded towards her, never once breaking their eye contact even when he reached her in the other end.    

   
 

 “Well?” She asked again.    

   
 

With smirking and mischievous pair of eyes, he leaned down ever so closely and slowly at her to lay his backpack on the floor next to her high-heeled feet.  Claire refrained from taking a step back. She won't be intimidated by him.    

   
 

“Take a seat sugarplum, and I’ll tell you all about it.”   

   
 

He shifted his eyes to the room when her stubborn, you-can’t-make-me-self finally took her seat.   

   
 

He unbuttoned his dark grey suit, sat and addressed the room. “How is everybody? “  

   
 

“Everybody had a good weekend? Oh, did anyone watched football?” Owen continued, rolling the sleeves of his crisp shirt up to his elbows.   

   
 

They all replied with an enthusiastic reception.  

   
 

“Wait, the Seahawks won yesterday?   

“Oh yeah!”  

“They’re owning this season!”  

“No need to rub it on my face, Owen.”  

“I guess, you owe me 20, Ryan.”  

   
 

They laughed.   

   
 

You’ve got to be kidding me. Claire pursed her lips in annoyance.  

   
 

A knock came from the door and Zara peeped her head from the door. “Owen? Delivery is here “.    

   
 

“As an apology for my tardiness and celebration for my team’s latest win, I brought breakfast.” Zara opened the door again for two delivery guys carrying take outs on each arm. They took out and placed the items on the empty spot at the center of the table and Zara went in again, this time carrying two cartons of coffees for everybody. She handed one to Claire and Owen before distributing the remaining beverage to her colleagues and finally sat beside Claire, across Owen.   

   
 

“Great, I’m starving!” Lowery rubbed his hands together and grabbed himself a box of pancakes and the rest of the crew followed his lead.  

   
 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Claire cast an accusatory look at him.  The team of people hesitated, all of them looking at Owen.  

   
 

“What? Oh yeah.” He stood and reached out to the table to grab two medium-sized boxes.  

   
 

“Here. Thought you might like this.” He said casually and opened the boxes. “Don’t let the food go cold guys. Eat up.” Owen ordered, noticing the room’s attention on them.   

   
 

“I already ate.”   

   
 

“Then eat again. Oh! try the vanilla shortcake, it’s my favorite.” He boasted enthusiastically, taking another sip from his coffee.   

   
 

“I don’t like muffins.” She pursed her lips, but her stomach grumbled at the rows of freshly-baked goods.   

 

“Sure, you do. Who doesn’t like muffins?” His hands lingered in the air, trying to pick one.  

   
 

“Me, I don’t.”  she said stubbornly.

   
 

“Yes, you do.” He grabbed one and took a huge bite. “Ugh!”  

   
 

“What are you doing Mr. Grady?”  

   
 

“Uhm, eating?” he answered in between his chews then swallowed.  “And please, are we still on that? It’s Owen.”  

   
 

“Don’t change the subject. We got a situation. How can you be this calm!” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down. Their colleagues were too indulged in their pancakes and coffees to pay attention to them.  

   
 

“Oh, I already took care of that.” He disclosed as if it was nothing.  He reached in again and pilfered another one from the box in front of her.  

   
 

“Wha-what? Ho-how? I don’t believe you.” Claire stammered, her brows furrowing in disbelief.   

   
 

Owen swallowed and the side of his lips turned in that familiar upward motion. “Eat, and I’ll tell you.”  

   
 

“No.” She leaned back against her chair, blew and took a quick sip on her coffee.  

   
 

“Oh, Claire. Scared of a little extra calorie?” he titled his head and pouted at her.   

   
 

“You know what Grady?” she grabbed a tissue and plucked the unhealthiest looking muffin from the box and bit into it. “Happy?”   

   
 

He shrugged but kept the smug look on his face. “Have as much as you like, they’re vegan anyway.”  

* * *

  
 

Claire craned her neck from side to side as she waited for the coffee maker. What a long day. After excusing herself from the morning meeting (if you could call a short discussion of the situation and then talk about a lousy game a meeting) she retreated to her office, told Zara that she was not to be disturbed unless it’s a matter of life and death and gratified herself on the amount of paperwork she has to sign, contracts she has to review and emails she has to send and finish.  

   
 

 The industrial clock on the far side of the wall of the company’s break room read 9:45 pm and its incessant ticking reminded Claire of her solitude. She stifled a yawn and leaned her forehead against the cupboards, closing her eyes and recalling this morning’s events.   

   
 

After finishing their breakfast, Owen narrated the story. The contracts signed and filed this morning, it was a done deal already and the reason for his tardiness. He had managed to talk to their two investors over the weekend while watching the match. Apparently, both were huge football fans, Owen had taken advantage of the situation, invited them out (and by some chance they agreed) and they watched the game at a local sports bar. Owen wagered-wagered! Claire couldn’t believe it- Hal and Jim to give Grady Corp. another chance if the Seahawks won. Both men agreed and shook on it and the rest was history. Claire sat there, shaking her head at his obvious bluff of a story. Because how can someone put a stake that high? Where was the logic in that?   

    

Claire thought that it was just a lure, a diversion story to cover how good he actually was at his job. But why though? Yes, the man was extremely stubborn and impulsive when arriving at corporate decisions and arrangements but he knew his stuff. Claire had to stop herself from gaping up at him, with a tone of surprise when he would come up with a better solution that she had.  

   
 

“Claire?”  

   
 

She knew that voice, it had been her distant companion during late working nights such as this. She lazily opened her eyes and turned around.   

   
 

“Don’t mind me, I’m just making sure all the lights were out before I go down.”   

   
 

The small and fragile-looking utility man dressed in blue security overalls said while picking out the empty plastic cups on the dining table.   

   
 

“Oh, of course, Joe, I’ll make sure I switched them off this time. You want some coffee?” She smiled apologetically.  

   
 

“Thank you but I already have one downstairs. Ring me if you need help or anything.” Offering her a wrinkly smile.   

   
 

“Sure, thank you. I’ll be out of here after this.”  

   
 

“Okay.  Good night Claire and have a safe drive.” He exited from where he came and Claire was left alone again. Joe’s been here longer than she had and the man was pushing to his 70s with no intention of retiring. She decided that she’s going to have to talk to the HR department to put Joe’s shift during daytime and perhaps give him a raise.   

   
 

A slight beep from the coffee maker alerted her, and the strong, hot aroma engulfed her drowsy senses.   

   
 

Claire looked around for the cup she always used and realized she must have left it back at her office desk. “Shit.”   

   
 

Still, she continued to scramble for a clean cup in the cupboards and cabinets but found nothing.   

   
 

“Fine. Come here, beauty.” slowly taking the glass pitcher from the appliance, switching off the lights and making her way back to her office.  

   
 

“Okay, easy now Claire. Not a spill. Easy. It’s not that far. Easy.” Waddling her way carefully through the dimly lit hallways.   

   
 

She had been enough trouble for man the last few years and calling Joe to mop up her mess again after seeing him all but limped his way around was just inhuman.   

   
 

“Just a little more. Nearly there, nearly there.” She continued talking to herself.  

   
 

“Burning the midnight oil, Claire?” a throaty voice echoed behind her ear and she jumped from fright, releasing her tight hold on the handle of the pitcher which landed and broke at her feet and spilling the delicious hot coffee on her exposed skin. She screamed.  

   
 

“Claire! I’m so sorry!  Are you okay?” A man hurriedly leaned down, wiped her feet with his hands before putting his muscled arms behind her knees and hoisting her up to his chest. He removed her black pumps in a rush and they fell with a heavy thud on the floor. The shards of glass and coffee spill laid forgotten on the tile as they navigated their way around and into lit and wider corridor, past her office. Claire came face to face with the intruder, a worried and apologetic look on his handsome face.  

   
 

“What the hell!” She cried.  

   
 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were holding something.” Owen pushed open the men’s loo,  

sat her on the cold granite countertop and opened the faucet to her reddening feet.  

   
 

“What do you think I was tiptoeing for, jackass? Jeez, it burns.” Claire pulled her knees together and fanned her feet then she noticed a pinkish line on the center of her left foot and diluted red liquid flowing with the water. “Damn it.”   

   
 

“I’m so, so sorry. Where’s the first aid kit around here?” Owen stuttered, catching the cold water to her feet.  

   
 

“Third floor, at the clinic.”  

   
 

“Fuck. There’s one at my office. Let’s go.” Once again, he scooped her up like she was nothing before she could protest and proceeded to his office.   

   
 

With the blinds drawn out, the room lighted by the scatters of city lights around them. Owen carried her to the lounge chair in the room, switching on the reading lamp after he set her down.   

   
 

“Stay here, ok.”   

   
 

As if. She glared at him while drying her feet on the plush carpet beneath her. Owen disappeared into his en-suite bathroom.   

   
 

Everything remained as she left it all those years ago. Neat and organized. The opulent desk remained situated right by the floor to ceiling glass windows, the small living room at the center of the room and the shelf on the wall beside the door. The only foreign thing was Owen’s suit jacket draped across the armrest of the three-seater couch.   

   
 

He emerged moments later, holding a white pouch with a red cross on it and an ice bag.    

   
 

“Why do you have a first aid kit?” Claire questioned before she could stop herself.  

   
 

 “Why won’t I?” Walking over to his mini-fridge and pouring cubes in the ice bag.  

   
 

“Everybody should have a first aid kit within their person Claire. Here, let me see.” He handed her the ice bag, stretched her feet up on the matching stool and, knelt to look at her foot.   

   
 

Owen placed the medical supplies on the table and attended the long shallow cut that grazed the bridge of her left foot.   

   
 

“Looks like there wasn’t a grain of glass stuck, you will be fine. But I’m gonna clean it ok? His face was serious, that it almost wasn’t him.   

   
 

“I can do it.” Her pride resurfacing despite the burning and stinging pain at her feet.    

   
 

“Of course, you can.” He chuckled, dabbing the cotton on the antiseptic.   

   
 

“Let me.” Reaching for the cotton in between his fingers.   

   
 

“No.” Owen extended his arm away from her.   

   
 

“Yes.”  

   
 

“Claire.” He warned, a stern look tainting his features.  

   
 

She let out a deep breath in defeat and secured the ice bag on her right foot instead. Good thing she was wearing pants today or she would have fought harder to clean her wound herself.  

   
 

“This is gonna sting ok?” He offered her a small almost weary smile. “Ready?”  

   
 

Claire nodded.   

   
 

She hissed when the cotton touched her skin and instinctively grabbed Owen’s shoulder, tugging him closer.   

   
 

 “Now, now, let me finish before we got to a little somethin’, somethin’ ok?”   

   
 

“You are unbelievable!” She made a move to pull her leg away but Owen caught it.   

   
 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll behave, promise.” He laughed. Claire watched him as he carefully dabbed the torn skin, not at all surprised by his knowledge on first aid.   

   
 

“What are you doing here anyway? I saw everybody left.”  Claire asked after a while, her eyes following the slide of cotton on her skin, the pain fading bit by bit.  

   
 

“I did. I was already on the freeway when I realized I don’t have any of my house keys.” He muttered while blowing warm breath on her wound with much consideration.   

   
 

“I thought you have a place in the city?” She saw him bit his lip as if he’s trying to hide another joke but for her sake, didn’t.   

   
 

“I do. I stayed there this weekend.”  He threw the slightly red and used cotton on the table and soaked fresh cotton with antiseptic again.  

   
 

“Tell me something Mr. Grady, why would you spend an hour drive when you practically own and can afford any apartment buildings in the city, a few blocks away from here?” Claire asked, watching his every movement, slightly stunned by how careful he was being.    

   
 

He gave a small, short laugh before shrugging and explaining in that same hushed tone. “I missed my animals.”     

   
 

“You… missed your animals?” she asked incredulously as if she wasn’t sure she heard him right.    

   
 

“Yeah. Humans are overrated species. Besides, it’s quieter there. You should drop by sometime.” He snickered.  

   
 

“I-“  her automatic rejection to his suggestion cut off when he suddenly got up, sat on the stool where her feet were resting a while go, maintaining the distance. He hunched over her left foot on his knee, two handy-sized tubes of ointment on his hand. The white dress shirt he’s wearing strained appealingly against his protruding muscles. Claire averted her eyes and focused on his jacket strewn on the couch.   

   
 

She could recall the first time she finally saw him wear a suit. It was two Mondays ago, and she was finishing a tour to their prospective clients when he materialized from the lobby entrance. Wearing his usual aviators and conversing with someone on the phone, he hung up when he caught her eye, and the customary smirk brightening up his face. Claire was on the verge to say her appreciation for his now-respect for the dress regulations but held it back when she observed him alternating his casual clothes and suits a few days later.   

   
 

“I’m really sorry for scaring you like that. But you were walking way too slow.” His eyes stayed on the task at hand, calloused fingers gliding effortlessly against her skin. His fingers dipped in healing cream softly traced the outline of the cut.   

   
 

Claire found herself staring at his hands again and frowned upon realizing it. “I should’ve thrown that bloody coffee at you.” Earning a chuckle from him.   

   
 

Once he finished, he wiped his hands on his pants, opened the tube of anti-burn cream and applied it on her healing skin and doing the same thing on her right.   

   
 

 “There. All done. It’s probably best if you don’t cover this til tomorrow. Wear flip-flops or something.” He tapped a finger near her injury, finally casting his eyes to look at her and chuckled.   

   
 

Something about his eyes pushed the indignation out of her, even just for a mere moment. She saw a glimpse of the person their employees were praising, what his father always kept on emphasizing when he talked about him; the kind, gentle and sincere man he grew up to be. 

   
 

“Thank you… Owen, “she whispered, as if her voice were an octave higher, she’ll break the room.  

   
 

“Hey, that’s the first time you said my name!” He beamed, with all the charm of an American heart throb. She felt him lightly grip her heel which was still resting on his thigh.  

   
 

“Don’t get used to it.” Rolling her eyes and trying to hold back a smile.  

   
 

“I like your hair like that.” he blurted out and her head snapped back at him.  

   
 

“Yeah, well, you should thank yourself for that. 'early meeting', my ass.” She blamed, although there’s a playful tone in her voice, for the first time since meeting him.   

   
 

“Well then, thank you, Owen,” he uttered quietly before crouching over her foot again to breath one last blow to her injury and when he sat straight again, Claire found herself staring back at him.  

   
 

The air around them was suddenly charged with an unnamable but familiar tension. Just like the times when they stopped glaring at each other, the silence that lingered after was almost deafening and unbearable; neither of them wanting to look away first, his eyes sometimes falling to her heaving lips. She felt it suffocating her to the point that giving in (whatever giving into was that) would be the ultimate relief.   

   
 

She didn’t notice him until it was too late.   

   
 

He rolled his chair, attempting to close the distance separating them. But the knobbed foot of the stool got stuck on the carpet, forcing him to suddenly kneel on the floor and bumped his face on her thigh with an oof. She gasped at the contact.  

   
 

“If you’re going to have sex, you don’t have to spill the damn coffee.” Joe berated from the doorway of Owen’s office. In his hand were the remaining handle of the broken glass pitcher and the pair of her black suede Jimmy Choos.   

   
 

“Oh no, we’re not-” Claire defended, all the blood rushing to her head.   

   
 

Owen stood up briskly and faced the elderly. “Hey, Joe!” He stated in a high pitch voice, rubbing the back of his neck.   

   
 

 “Hey, Owen. I’ll just leave your shoes here, Miss Claire. You kids get on with whatever you’re doing.” He waved his hand dismissively and shook his head, smiling at the two them and left. “And switch the damn lights off when you’ve finished!” He shouted from the hallway.  

   
 

Owen looked down from where she still sat, his nervous laugh fading on his lips and adding in a sober tone. “Let’s give him a raise.”   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe. Don't worry! The next chapter's gonna be a continuation (sort of) of what happens next right after this. Stay tuned. Thank you for the favorites, the follows and the reviews! Please tell me what you think about this chapter and please point out any of my errors, I uploaded this in a hurry, usually I wait for like a week to upload my next chapters so I can really delve into it and add or delete some unnecessary parts that has nothing to do with the plot. But thank you and I appreciate everything.


	3. Howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am not familiar with any business lexicons so I have no idea what I'm talking about most of the time but I would like to think that Grady Corp. have hands around Investments, Telecommunications, Real Estates and Global Trading. If anyone didn’t notice the change in rating, THIS IS YOUR WARNING.

 I found this really pretty farmhouse in Pinterest and I fell in love with it. This was my inspiration for Owen's farmhouse.

[Farmhouse](https://magnolia.com/our-show/episode-13-the-all-american-farmhouse/)

 

* * *

   **HOWL**

A wolf’s howl could mean a lot of things: when they’re trying to communicate each other, when rallying for a hunt, when mourning for a lost member and sometimes, as a declaration of territory or a sign of protection.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you can drive?” Owen asked again. This time, his hands were firmly tucked inside the pocket of his suit if they betrayed him again and grabbed her out of whim.

“I scalded my feet, I sprained them. I’m fine.” Claire reminded him flatly, rummaging in her bag for her car keys.

Owen would have believed her if he didn’t notice how she was slightly favoring her right foot as they walk side by side out of the deserted lobby elevator and into the underground parking lot.

The valet reception area abandon ed apart from a cup of half-full coffee and chips. Outside the glass enclosure were two vehicles glinting visibly under the glare of a few lit LED lights. His car parked on his designated spot near the entrance and few spaces across from his was her car.

Claire walked, more like limp, to the automatic glass door that wouldn’t budge then to swing door, rattling the obviously locked handle.

“Where are the keys to this?” she turned around to face him and peered over the wooden desk and key drawer. “Damn it.”

Gleeful, Owen answered, “Joe’s probably still not finished with his rounds. Unless you  wanna wait for him.” after our little fiasco upstairs. Seeing her flustered was making him happy for some reason.

“We can use the fire exit in the lobby. Come on.” She puffed impatiently and didn’t wait for him to follow her back to the elevator.

Claire abruptly paused from opening the door of the Fire Exit, forcing him to stop too. She adjusted her feet in the overly large pair of disposable and thin slippers which she had hidden in his en suite bathroom, underneath the sink, for his dad all those years ago. She had agreed with him that it was best not to wear her heels for precautionary measures, even though she already checked for fragments of glass that might be concealed inside the sole. Besides the stickiness it absorbed from the coffee was not at all soothing. They left it to dry in her office bathroom.

“You don’t have to hover over me, I can manage on my own.”   


Owen smiled at her tenaciousness and let her walk a few steps down the flight of stairs but frowned when he heard her cursed at something her left foot had stepped on.

   


“Alright, that’s it.” He trotted down towards her in three easy steps, wrapped his forearms around the back of her knees and picked her up.

“Hey! Put me down! I said put me down! Owen!” She squirmed against his embrace, her voice echoing in the confined space and the hand which was also holding her bag went instinctively around his neck for support.

“If you hit your head or something and died in here, they’re  gonna point to the last person you were with which was me and testifying why you broke your neck isn’t at the top of my to-do list.”

In truth was, he was extremely guilty. If he wasn’t so keen on seeing her reactions to everything, she wouldn’t have let go of that glass pitcher, and cut and almost burnt her feet in the process. The idea of him scarring her filled him with self-reproach. It was not the impression he was thinking of leaving on her.

 Owen hoisted her up further to his chest as to try to make up for his stupidity.

   


She practically weighed like air. Seriously, he doesn’t get it why he was around by women whom he knew and dated, could still be obsessed with their weight.

   
“On the contrary, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

   


“Oh, you would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” He chuckled and gripped her legs tighter to him as he went down the steps with much ease, his naval training coming in handy.

   
“Oh yes, please. It’ll save me a lot of time of my day spent on arguing with you. I can get so much done.” Owen would have thought she was teasing him if her facial expressions and tone weren’t dull.

   


“Aww. But I do enjoy our little “talks”.” Making little quotation marks in the air, still holding her bridal style down the last steps.

   


“Hmm. Isn’t that sweet, Grady.” She fleered, rolling her eyes as Owen pushed for the door handle using his back.

He bit his lip to fight the dorky smile he’s been trying to hide for the past hour. “What happened to ‘Owen’? I like ‘Owen’.” 

   


“I told you, don’t count on it. And for the record, I’m just letting you carry me because I don’t want my feet to get dirty.”

   


“Whatever you say, Ma’am.” He snickered and adjusted her place in his arms as they neared her parked car which she was staring at. Maybe she wasn’t aware of it but the hand that wasn’t latched on to his neck and holding her bag rested on the lapels of his suit. Somehow the aromatic combination of coconut, milk, and vanilla on her clothes and skin made sense. It was a heady mix that’s been teetering him on the edge of losing all coherent thoughts and reservations.

   
He swore under his breath.

“-just so we’re clear. What? What was that?”

   
He gaped at her. He wasn’t aware what she was ranting on about, having zoned out again in her presence.

   


“Nothing. Just, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met.” Placing her down gently on the driver’s side of her car. “Truly. Damn woman.”

Without her heels, she barely could even reach his chin. She had to take a step back to look at him squarely in the eye, an amused and roguish expression on her face.

“Thank you. Would you have me be anything but?” Her voice grew bubbly, the hand on his neck lingered and slowly drew down to the pocket of his jacket, to his hip. He caught the small bite on her lips.

   
Did she just… check him out? Astounded for but a minute, he felt himself grin widely. He probably was reading too much into it but before he could open his mouth to point it out, she clicked the unlock button on her key and opened her door, hiding her body behind it.

   
“See you tomorrow Mr. Grady, and don’t worry, I won’t press charges.” Her hand curled around the door as she regarded him through long, curled eyelashes.

   
There it was again. The smile he had been subconsciously and anxiously waiting for the past month. The smile that he knew this time that he was the cause of.

Throwing logic out the window, he found himself pulling her to his arms but for an entirely different motive now. As if in slow motion, he angled his head, closed his eyes and finally pressed his quivering lips against hers.

Sweet Lord.

If she was taken by surprise, she recovered quickly because she was kissing him back with the same ardent passion and reckless abandon. She opened her mouth against his ministrations, her hands flying to his hair, and aligning her body with his. He pushed her body against the door of her car and raked his fingers along the tresses of her wavy hair that’s been driving him out of his  mind ever since this morning, the other gripping her waist.

As if he wouldn’t get any more uncomfortable in his tightening jeans, she hiked her knee up against his waist, pressing herself closer to him and softly brushing her pant-clad center against him. An animalistic groan rumbled from his chest and he bit her bottom lip in approval. Owen grabbed her knee before leaning his forehead against hers, out of breath. He trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses down the length of her jaw and neck while she fumbled for the button of his pants. And Owen thought he might pass out. He bucked his hips against her wandering hands and she whimpered. She was on the verge of pulling himself out but stopped when a ringing tone invaded his ears, getting louder by the minute. Who calls this time of hour?

   
“No, no, no. Don’t take that” he pleaded, his mouth still pressing heated kisses on the deep v of her long-sleeved blouse, her black bra peeking through.

“I left  mine at home.”

   
He stopped un-tucking her blouse from her slacks and looked at her as if she had grown two heads, furrowed his eyebrows because Claire Dearing never went anywhere without her cellphone. It would be the end of the world before she would ever part with it. It sure wasn’t his because he always put it on silent mode during evenings, the shrilling alarms it makes in the middle of the night reminded him of bad memories in the navy.

“What do you mean?” His mind getting foggy and blurry around the edges.

   


“It’s time to wake up.”

He woke up with a start, the morning sunlight peeking at his bedroom window and blinding one eye. He rolled to the side shutting off the blaring alarm clock that read 7:03 on his bedside table, the roosters’ synchronized crows rang in his ears. He lied on his back and became very aware of an unpleasant feeling settling in his stomach and lower torso, the blanket hitching up and viscid.

Fucking hell!

Ever since meeting her, she had been a constant character to his dreams. Just what he predicted she would be. With each morning making it harder and harder to bear. Pun intended.

   
   
He remembered everything that happened four nights before: the coffee jar breaking, his clumsiness, his dad’s slippers, him carrying her all the way down the fire exit and her smile as she said goodbye and goodnight to him. Except the flirting and the kiss, everything but that damn kiss that didn’t happen. He groaned yet again remembering the dream, remembering all the dreams he had of her in hurried flashbacks in his head. His lower half twitched again in response.

   


By 8:04, dressed up in a three-piece grey suit, his backpack in one hand and a tumbler of his coffee, he went out to the elevated deck of his back porch, a breeze of warm wind blowing on his face.

   
The mornings out here were the best. The sun was reverberating golden rays on the expanse of green land he now owned. Acres and acres of soil, towering trees, and bushes surrounded the land, hiding it from plain view, far from the prying eyes of travelers driving on the way. Isolation, just the way he preferred it. His grandparents’ bungalow of a house stood in the middle of it; a stable barn erected on the farthest left of the fence and from it, a man dressed in a fairly appropriate farmer’s outfit walked out.

   


“Morning Owen!” greeted the Hispanic and soft-spoken man from over the fence separating cobblestones and grassy hills, all the while holding a  dutch hoe in his left hand.

“Hey Mario, how are Blue and Charlie today?” He asked his prized mares, closing the screen door behind him. He dropped his things on the rocking chair, ducked below the wire fence and stood beside him, looking at the animals roaming freely.

   
Mario and his wife have been with Owen’s family since his grandparents bought the place and have provided assistance when he’s away.

   
“They’re doing great, no more tantrums this morning, but I wouldn’t bet on it. TV predicted a storm comin’ in a few days.”

   
“In this weather? it wouldn’t be the first time they were wrong. Are there any barrels left?

   
“We’re almost out of hay, but I already ordered. There’s a fresh batch coming tomorrow. I also de-wormed the goats yesterday. The vets said I should do it once a month.”

   
“I’ll help you with that. Thank you.” He got his wallet from the back of his pocket and handed him a couple of bills. “Here, we need to stock up on those feeds, I also need new bulbs for the chicken’s coop.  And how many times do I have to tell you, you can live in the spare room by the barn, you don’t have to walk here every day.”

   
“Nah. I and the Missus enjoy the walk.”

   


 “Well, my offer remains open. If you-“   


“Owen, get off the grass!” They whipped around when they heard a hoarse shout a woman on their left. The woman dressed in a cotton blouse, homespun skirt, and apron which she was holding on the edge to keep the birds feed.

“Good morning, Mrs. Legazpi!” He waved a hand at the approaching caretaker, a  badling of geese along her wake.

   
“You’re gonna ruin your shoes, get off, you bull-headed boy.”

“It’s fine, Mrs. Legazpi. I’m just  gonna wipe ‘ em off. Feeding time?” he opened his palm and asked for the grain of poultry food on her hiked skirt.

“Oh no, you’re dressed up so handsomely, don’t ruin it. Go to work, we got this.” Pushing a chortling Owen with an unoccupied hand to the edge of the fence back to his house.  “When did you get so heavy?”

   


He chuckled and regained his footing, stooped down between the barrier and up to get his stuff on the rocking chair on the porch.

“What’s her name anyway?” the 56-year old woman interrogated, her husband was suddenly beside her, their elbows resting on the spaces between each fence while they waited for his answer.

“Huh?” he turned around, confused. Digging through his mind the last time he brought a girl home.

   
“The lady you’re trying to impress.” Mario jibed in, adjusting his straw hat on his graying head.

   
“What made you think there is one?” throwing his backpack on his shoulder, he regarded them with a quirked eyebrow.

   


“Please, I changed your diapers when you were a babe and I know how much you hate wearing those things.” She answered and waving her hand up and down his attire.

   
“What are you two talking about? First off, I'm not trying to impress anyone. And second, I’m always impression-able even without a tie, even without anything on really.” he jeered at the old couple who shook their heads at him. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

   
“You have a safe drive!” They waved goodbye and was about to resume their posts when Owen added that he left breakfast on the table for them.

   
Mario shouted something back but he was already far enough to hear it.

* * *

 

The weather drastically changed during his drive, heavily darkening the already polluted air of the city. Much to his surprise, his anticipation of a heavy traffic jam that always seemed to occur during the rainy season on the intersection a few blocks from his office was absent. The travel to his work only took the usual 45 minutes of his day. The shortcuts Lowery taught him were excessively useful especially during the rush hour.

Owen cranked up the volume of his radio, bobbing his head in tune with the music as he neared the entrance of the underground parking of his building.

   


The architecture stood gloriously compared to the other skyscrapers. With its forty floors and economical and environmental-friendly glass and concrete façade. He and his family’s pride and joy. The Grady Corporation in its big San Serif letters on top of the building and above the revolving entrance doors flaunted in a way that was not to be missed by potential business partners and passersby.

   


A lot has changed on the exterior of the building and the establishments beside it , t hat for the first few weeks of Owen’s employment, the building was a foreign site, a piece of architecture he had forgotten he was a part of.

   
Just as he was about to turn and drive down the cave, a loud honk and speeding car appeared out of nowhere, making him abruptly hit the brakes, His body jerking forward from the action. Motherfucker.

   
He glanced at the unwelcome interrupter and who would be it other than Claire Dearing herself, in all her perfect being. They scowled with total vexation at each other from the transparent windows of their cars. Raising one defeated hand up, she reversed her car a few feet away and giving him permission to enter first.

He beeped a greeting at the staff inside the reception area who nodded back at him with a wave, Claire’s silver  Mercedez trailing behind him. He noticed a 2-seater grayish cobalt Audi parked on the usual empty spot across from him.

“Is it always  gonna be like this? You almost-killing me every morning?” She accused besides him when they both got out of the car and were walking in the same direction towards the parking lobby.

   


Oh, honey, I bet it’s the other way around.

“Mind you, I was there first until you show up- you know what, forget  it.” he’ll let this one pass. For now. 

“Good morning Miss Dearing. Morning Owen.”

   


“Good morning Artie, could you do me a favor? could you have my car washed down that place at 6th before I leave tonight?”

“Sure thing, Miss Dearing.” The flustered bell boy accepted her key and hid it inside the drawer, avoiding her eyes.

   


She thanked him before standing at the corner near the elevator to answer a call. How is it that even in the most hidden corner of the world, she could get a reception?

   
“How about you Owen?”

He turned to him after watching her for a minute and feeling sorry for whoever she was talking to this early in the morning.

“Nah. I’m good. The rain’s probably  gonna ruin it by the end of the day, thank you though. Say, whose ride was it? The Audi?” Giving a small nod to the new vehicle outside.

“Oh, some guy from  Ibris Trading Co., They just came in 10 minutes before you guys arrived and mentioned a meeting with you and with Miss Dearing,” Artie announced, referring to the tablet in his hand. The blush on his cheeks not lost on Owen this time.

   


“My, my,  my . Artie’s got a little crush on feisty Miss Dearing.” He whispered low, leaning his elbow on the counter.

“No Sir! No! I don’t have a death wish.” Both men quickly glanced at Claire’s back who was still reprimanding another poor fellow on the other end of the line.

   
“Besides, I won’t have a chance against the competition,” Artie stressed a devilish light in his young eyes.

   
“Oh yeah? Who’s the competition?” Owen asked, chuckling with interest.

   
“-wait one second, Grady? Grady!” Claire barked from inside the elevator. He whirled his head towards her direction.

   
“Are you coming?” her redhead peeking outside the lift, a hand covering her phone.

   
His eyes widened shortly, his distracted brain not missing a beat to form a coitus innuendo to her words. Get a grip, Grady.

   
“See you later Art.” Running and Pressing the Up button to try to hold the door.

   
As the doors closed in front of them, his mind flash-backed to one of his dreams, resembling this one. The elevator, the emergency button, him on his knees. Fuck. He knew he should’ve gotten himself off this morning. Calm down, Owen. Calm down. 

“Do you know we have a meeting with  Ibris ?” He started, staring at their reflections on the doors. She swiped her card on a tiny screen that would take them to their office without interferences from other employees hurrying to get to their floors.

   
“That’s what I was asking my team about. They're not expected here until next week. Now, my schedule’s all ruined, again.” She complained, both hands on her phone, typing whatever havoc into it that only she could solve. The distraction allowed Owen to probe with free gusto.

   
She straightened her hair today, the reddish and golden strands longer now from when he first met her, fell just below her armpit. She had her blazer wrapped around her bag, leaving her lean arms exposed on the black halter dress she’s wearing. The matching killer heels on her feet also wasn’t to miss. Smiling to himself, he reminisced the day after that night. She didn’t wear flip-flops just like what he prescribed her to do but the sandals that garbed her feet suggested that she was at compliant to him, in her own way.

   
“Are you almost done salivating, Grady?” She interrupted; nose still buried deep on her phone.

   
“What can I say? I can’t help it.” Not the best way to appease his biological urges, he thought. He shrugged and tucked his hands inside his pockets, their intensive eyes meeting on the mirrored doors.

   
“Ran out of shorts?” Smirking her dreamy crimson lips on him at their reflection. Breathe.

   
“What made you say that?”

   
“You’ve been wearing a lot of suits these days.”

   
 _What is with his suits that intrigued people?_ “I knew it. Been checking me out lately, Dearing?” He teased, leaning his elbows on the railings behind him, looking at her directly.

   
“Wait, let me check my itinerary…oh wait, no, there isn’t one that mentioned that. Isn’t that a bummer.” She stated, sarcasm dripping on her voice.

   
Before he could reply with a much clever comeback, they heard a ping and both stepped out the elevator, Claire’s phone already pressing against her ear.  “Talk to me.”

   
Lowery who was waiting by the door, suddenly stood beside him, clapping his hand on Owen’s shoulder in what he felt like a pity gesture, “You know when people told me that soldiers get kinda crazy after deployment, I didn’t believe them. Til now.” their eyes following Claire’s retreating figure.

* * *

   
Trust your instincts. In an environment where everything could be compromised, put your only trust in your damn instincts. Owen rarely doubts and doesn’t mull over second thoughts. His decisions whether be it in his career or life choices were straightforward and cogitated with a distinctive finality that he’s more than willing to accept whatever consequences it might bring afterward. He learned that from the Navy.

And from the view of things, that pull kept heightening to a tenfold.

Elijah Mills. Owen doesn’t like that guy. He doesn’t like him at all. There’s something oddly conceited about the way he talks and carries himself, the offset attempt in sugar-coating his points was also suspicious enough and the shrewd way he kept glancing at Claire when he got the chance made Owen want to slap his eyeglasses off his face with the bind of contract laid in front of him.

   


For the past hour, the man’s assistant was pitching in bartering their fleet of cargo ships to Grady Corp., with Mills interrupting from time to time to add subtext and further explanation.

   


Ibris has been one of the company’s top mergers since his dad but with the new management, namely Owen, they have to convince him again why they must stay that way.

The panel in the room heeded and nodded but Owen kept a straight face. Something just doesn’t add up.

   
“All right. Thank you, Mr. Mills. I see nothing much had changed. Except that your sales were better than last quarter. I couldn’t see the point of this meeting if we’re just gonna continue and sign your contract.” Claire concluded when their presentation ended, the last words felt like it was directed at him.

   
“it’s nothing. It’s always been a pleasure.” He appealed smugly.

   


“Owen?” Steve, the head of his Logistics department turned his attention on him. The final decision rested solely on the Chairman.  

“Listen, Mr. Mills, here at Grady Corp we highly consider the environment, consider the services it offers and more importantly considers the people, their needs and yet remaining adaptable to change.” He ventured, browsing through the pages of the contract in front of him.

   
“Absolutely. But what’s your point?”

   
Owen felt a little satisfaction explode in him from the frown that formed on his forehead.

“My point is, I don’t see  Ibris reflecting those aspects. Anymore.” Owen shrugged and heard the small crowd silently gasped.

   


“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m afraid, I cannot sign.” He said with an undisputed conclusion, closing the book and putting the pen on top of it.

“What… Mr. Grady would like to say is thank you for an exemplary contract Eli -“ Claire conciliated, like the businesswoman she was.

   
Eli? Who the fuck is Eli?

   


“-But could you give us a few days to make this decision as a board?” She continued.

   


“ Sure thing Claire.” He stood up and shook her hand a little longer in Owen’s eyes. He found himself standing as well. Their positions on the table making a perfect triangle.

   
“Thank you, Mr. Mills.” Owen offered his hand.

   
“Thank you for having me. I’ll be seeing you again Owen.” He smiled, and gripped his hand more firmly and shaking the others’ hands as well.

   
“Zara will see you out. Zara?”

   
“Right this way sirs.” Zara stood up and escorted the two men out the conference room but not before Mills pressed a farewell and swift kiss to Claire’s cheek who was clearly horrified from the intimacy.

“I’ll see you, Claire.” 

   
Owen suddenly felt the familiar urge to shield her and take cover, a feeling that seemed to had embedded itself to him, thanks to his navy days.

And then hit someone (preferably him) with a canon and throw him overboard in a shark infested area.

   
“Meeting adjourned. We’ll have this discussion on Monday. Thank you, everybody.” Owen said stiffly when Zara and their guests left.  He piled his things in a rush to get out of the room but leaving the Ibris contract on the table.

As usual, the panel hurriedly collected their things and went out the door without a word.

Just as he was about to exit, 

“A word, Mr. Grady.” It wasn’t a question, it’s not even a request, it’s an order.

   
He stopped on his heel and back at her. Lowery, being the only person in the room who was not in distress to flee from them, stood in front of him and mockingly moved his hand in his chest as a sort of benediction. “May the Father be with you.” He whispered so only he could hear.

   


“Lowery, leave us.” Evident menaced in her voice.

   


“Yup. Leaving!” He almost sprinted to the exit and closed the door with a silent click.

“What is it now?” Claire started, one hand was on her side, the other was squeezing her chair with nude manicured nails and white knuckles.

   


“What’s what now?” He loosened his tie because he suddenly felt hot and angry for some reason and her dress was not helping.

   


“ Ibris Trading has been our partner for years, they’re a huge asset -“

   


“I’m very aware of what they bring to the company, Claire.” He cut off, matching her cold and impassive tone.

“Then I don’t see the reason you can’t sign.”

“They’re not a total loss, we got a hundred trading firms under our wing who got much more potential, could produce more results and at such a great cost too.”

He was unconsciously approaching her sentence after sentence, their eyes in total lockdown.

“Are you serious? Alan started-“   


“Well, my dad isn’t here anymore, so unless you  wanna magically piece back his ashes to sign the contract, please, be my guest.” He spat angrily, panting.

   


She stood right there, open-mouthed, shocked. If Owen wasn’t in an ocean of emotions now, he would’ve bottled the moment.

“Are we done here? I have to get home.”

“Owen, I...” she took a step towards him, and suddenly his mind went on overdrive on her, all of her, he felt everything in him went rigid, more.

   


“Don’t.” He warned and stepped back. He won’t be liable for his next actions if she took another step. “Don’t come any closer. Just. Not now Claire.”

He didn’t see her reaction because this time, he was the one who walked out.

   
Never meeting anyone’s eyes upon his exit, Owen then took out his phone and speed-dialed a friendly number.    


“As I live and breathe, Owen Grady!” Came to the excited greeting.   


 “Hey, I’m gonna need that favor. Now.”   


“About fucking time.”    
  


* * *

 

“I’m here girl, I’m right here.” He soothed and combed through her shiny brown hair. “That’s it, Charlie.” The horse neighed softly in response and he smiled before an aggravated pair of hooves stomped on the nearby stable alerting him of an unattended affection.

   
“Hey! Hey! You’re alright Blue, you’re alright.” The horse’s dilated eyes calmed down at the sound of his voice, “That’s it, that’s it.” The muscular grey head leaned on his hand before slowly moving away from him to resume eating her leftovers.

   
Blue and Charlie have been with him since early adulthood. They were a gift from his Dad who as a teenager grew up being a stable hand for his grandfather at the same farmhouse he’s currently residing. Both horses stayed sprightly and competitive although being over 15 years old and were Owen’s favorite pets.

   
“Alright, everybody settled in?” He shouted at the top of his lungs to the perturbed animals on his barn, an old oil lamp on his hand.

   
“Besides, it’s just a little rain, you guys.”

   
And as if on cue, a bolt of lightning suddenly cracked and lightened the sky, making some of the animals let out anguished cries.

   
Knowing that they probably don't understand him, he said, “Stay put, okay.” Owen grabbed a rectangular dry wood from his right and bolted the door.

   
Well, the weather prediction was partly correct this time. Instead of a few days, it rained heavily after a few hours of sunny skies. The downpour got more vicious by each minute, the wind making spooky howling sounds. The roof and doors were flapping with violence when he got home from work. He was surprise he got home safely. Since he knew the Legazpis leave at 6pm, Owen immediately went to check on his animals who were clearly restless and panicky from the harsh weather.

   
The wood provided little protection from the fierce gust of wind and rain. Already soaked to the bone, He threw it away and ran back to his house, his rubber farm boots sinking in soft land.

After a quick shower, lighting the fireplace and securing all the windows, doors and outdoor furniture, he called to check in on Mario and Nerissa who lived just down the road. Remembering that their old house wasn’t really  storm-proof , he decided to pick them up and let them shelter with him. He barely could hear them from the static interruptions on both phones.

   
“I’ll be there in 5 minutes! Hang on ok, hang on,” he shouted over the mouthpiece before placing it on the bench next to him while he put on his boots.

“No, no, no Owen! We’re actually -“ the line beeped and another struck of lightning shook the sky, cutting all power within the vicinity.

   
“Hello? Hello! Mario! Are you there?! Shit.” He grabbed his raincoat and keys from the tray and ran for the door.

   


Only to halt and come face to face with the last person he wanted here.

   
Dripping wet from the obvious stroll in the rain, the silver car nowhere in sight. Her auburn hair was dark and plastered to her forehead like a wet blanket and still, in the attire, she wore to work today which was clinging to her flawless pale skin but the redness of her lipstick on her ever-sexy lips remained on point and unbothered.

   


“What the actual fuck Owen Grady!” Claire hollered at him, momentarily drowning out the angry roars of the storm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no experience writing about this stuff, so I would love some pointers and tips. Was it a little cliche? too soon? Thank you for reading and you guys are awesome!!!
> 
> These wolf facts are quite fascinating so I put them in. I hope it's ok. And fun fact, upon my research I actually found a real website called Living with Wolves!! haha


	4. Fangs Flashing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! Take note that I re-read and edited Chapters 1 -3. I just added some context and erased unnecessary adjectives and nonsense. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss out on any major details.

* * *

**FANGS FLASHING **

 Many dominance and submission displays are not violent or aggressive, as the subordinate wolf will quickly adopt a submissive posture. Often, subtle messages, like an authoritative stare from a dominant wolf and, in response, an averted glance by a subordinate wolf, are enough keep individual status understood. Alternately, especially if willingness to submit isn’t demonstrated, assertive aggression may ensue.

([www.livingwithwolves.org](http://www.livingwithwolves.org))

* * *

 

** Chapter 4  **

   


** 18:04  **

   


The continuous pitter-patter of the rain hit the heated pavement with silent plops, filling the streets’ shallow puddles with murky, city water; strong blows of the wind continued wrestling with the downpour, heavily marking droplet-like shapes on the fabric of people’s pencil skirts and tweed jackets as they flew by from different directions to the nearest shelter.  

   


Located at an unpopular street in the city, a local pub called The Den stood between a Mexican dessert diner that served the best corn flavoured ice cream and a small dusty bookshop ran by a middle-aged couple. The flickering signage outside outdated and needed new lightbulbs, making it almost impossible for anyone to even notice it.  

   


With only ten people employed in it, it served not only decent food but top-notch and cheap libations, providing a much-earned rendezvous for the hard-earners of the family, for a couple of tamed college kids once in a while, for young professionals who settled for jobs they really didn’t want and to former soldiers who somehow never left the war.  

   


Owen Grady parked his Mercedes on the empty lot across it, noticing the plate number of a pale pink car of his companion three cars from his own when he fed the parking meter. The light drizzle was drenching his suit jacket he’s using to cover his head, warm and tingly on his already hot skin. He ran towards the entrance, his Oxford shoes dipping in rain water on the uneven road.  

   


Wiping the dampness on his arms and shivering a little from the shift in the temperature, he was comforted by the smell of leather, fir trees and roasted marshmallows. As outdated it was on the outside, The Den atoned and poured out all modern efforts inside.  

   


The interior was a gallery wall of clay bricks, various fake mutilated heads of animals, medieval shields, swords and hunting guns. A leather brown couch and two lounge chairs on both sides of it located on the far right, in front of a stony hearth with its dancing fires. Five kegs of freshly brewed German beer- their signature drink- were on display on the elevated island bar in the middle of room. Littered around it and making most of the area were black Windsor dining chairs circled around reclaimed round wooden tables. Chandelier and the other light fixtures all in warm white added a more dramatic character to the place, giving that industrial and rustic overall theme to its spectators. 

   


Of everything he owned, this was certainly in his top five.  

   


“Bossman! ‘Bout time you show up here!” Someone shouted over the soft country music playing from the jukebox and blubber of the crowd. Owen gazed up to the tall French man from behind the counter who stopped from wiping shot glasses.  

   


 Several people heard him and turned around, most of the usual comers called and waved at Owen, tipping their drinks of foamy beer or wine in his direction and beckoning for him to join them.  

   


The place was (nearly) full even with the imminent and disagreeable atmospheric conditions.   

   


“Hey Barry! How are you? Any bar fights I missed?” Giving his long-time friend a one armed-hug over the counter and sat on the deserted area in the bar. 

   


“Good, good. Unfortunately, none. You know I’d call you if there was one.” His wide shoulders slumped, his arms leaning on the black granite. 

   


Barry, his former shipmate who also settled for a quiet life, lands away from the high tides and steel ships, was The Den’s acting supervisor and general manager, and occasionally as the bartender (or when he felt like it). Owen bought the place to save it from bankruptcy the tour after his last and now had handed it to Barry to manage it more closely. 

   


“I saw your chick came in and went straight to the restroom. Let me get you a beer.” He offered, snickering teasingly at the word “chick” before turning around to grab a mason jar from the exposed and suspended piped shelving behind him.  

   


“Please.” Owen’s throat slobbering just seeing his friend fill his mug with the golden liquid from one of the kegs behind him. The bitter yet genuine taste doused his earlier outburst, calming him, making him gulp all of it at once.  

   


Barry’s eyebrows shot up all the way to his head, he assumed, “Bad day at work?” 

   


“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Owen shrugged, the glass clanking on the granite, “Another.” Sliding the drinkware back to Barry who was watching him with curious eyes.  

   


Of all the years he knew Owen, he had known specific moments not to probe his friend for any more telling; He would willingly do that with a little alcohol in his system. The last time he saw him this agitated was when he found out the health condition of his Dad and his friend almost drank a whole barrel of beer and tequila as the bar listened to him dote on stories about his father.  

   


“Mr. Owen Grady” A familiar voice loomed behind them punctuating every syllable, making both men looked up. 

   


Owen smirked, turning around in his high stool to greet the newcomer who was already occupying the bar stool beside him.  

   


“Almost didn’t recognise you with the fancy suit.” 

   


Both men sat there, silent and snickering. With an eye roll and peeved tone, the newcomer said,  

“Go on, say something about the car.”  

   


“No, no. It’s cool, it’s cool. Say uh, Barry, can you give our friend a drink here. Somethin’, I don’t know, pinkish?” 

   


“Oh definitely. May I offer you a Margherita? Or Cosmo for the lady? I’ll add those little pink umbrellas for free.” Barry gibed in and both immature men laughed at their own shenanigans. 

   


“Ha-ha. Hilarious, guys.”   

   


“If I’d known you’re a big fan of Hello Kitty I would have bought you one before coming here, you know as a Welcome Back gift.” Owen jested, shaking his friend’s shoulder. 

   


“Whatever happened to your car?” Barry laughingly asked, handing their friend a mug of beer identical to Owen’s and a wooden bowl of mixed peanuts between them.   

   


“My sister clearly misinterpreted me letting her borrow it while I was away and decided to Pimp-my-ride. Now, can we talk about other stuff now? besides the car?”  

   


“Yeah, yeah. How are you Franklin?” Owen chuckled, stood up and hugged his comrade.  

   


A number of times Franklin Webb’s life  had been saved  by Owen. Franklin was just 21 years old when he joined Owen’s troops. Having a rather muscle-less figure and often the last in individual standings, Owen saw the potential and unwavering dedication that he volunteered to give the new kid extra training sessions. It was also Owen’s team that led the rescue when Franklin, together with the new recruits he was “breaking”, was abducted off the coast of Somali by a group of rogue mercenaries after anchoring on an island there for a few weeks. An encounter that made him stick with naval computer works from that day on. 

   


“I’m alright. Three more weeks to go and then I’m off again.” The curly-haired and olive-skinned System Analyst replied, hugging him in return. 

   


“Great to see you in one-piece man. How’s the captain? It’s still Anderson, right?” Barry who also greeted him with a hug, commented before giving Owen another refill of his glass.  

   


“Yup. Still him. Still a pain the pass.” He sighed as if relieving a flashback of memories before he shuffled for something inside his bag.  

   


“Always was.” Owen  grinned ; the glass halted on his lips when he noticed the black dossier Franklin was pulling out of his backpack.  

   


“Anyway, you guys get down to business, I’ll be with you in a moment. Anything else I can get you before I go?” Barry asked, the hand towel he’s using to wipe the counter a while a go now rested on his left shoulder.  

   


“We’re good man, thanks.”  

   


“Alright. I’ll be back.” 

   


“Here you go.” Franklin dropped the folder on the empty counter in front of Owen. “Got everything in there. Birthday, SAT scores, pets’ names, favourite teachers, exact times they went to the grocery store, you name it. What is this about anyways?” 

   


Owen chewed on a handful of nuts as he read the file under the low lights that provided enough illumination to make out the words: 

   


        Mills, Elijah Stephen 

Born: 15 September 1984 

Birthplace: Pittsfield New York 

   


“I don’t know. I had a hunch.” Owen replied, sipping from his mug again and flipping through the pages. Mills was a Stanford graduate majored in Legal and Financial Management. He started the business ever since he was in college and Ibris started to grow from there. He was already affiliated with over the top brands for half a decade before deciding to merge his growing business with other huge companies, such as Grady Corp. Having established hundreds of charities and benefit galas and all for a great cause, he was an overachiever and philanthropist. It wasn’t a bad resumé.  

   


“Well whatever that hunch was, you probably were right.” Franklin held another folder, a thinner one compared to what Owen was skimming now. “Check this out.” 

   


His green eyes widened as read sentence after sentence. He felt his fists clenched too tightly, not at all mindful that the glass in his hand would break in half.   

   


“I don’t know about the right business terms but that looked pretty bad.”  

   


That son of a bitch. 

   


“What’s with the snooping?” Barry asked when he returned, angling his body so he could read the scattered sheets. Franklin looked at Owen who was still eerily silent on his seat as he reread the pages again, wishing they weren’t real.  

   


“See, this is the reason I have trust issues. People are so messed up.” Franklin concluded after he told Barry his research, pulling the abandoned bowl of snack Owen was munching on minutes ago. 

   


“So, what you mean to say is you can’t date someone unless you ran by them in your little stalking computer?” Barry teased but kept on reading the files himself, a frown now forming in his head.  

   


“I don’t call it stalking, the more  appro p riate term is Research.” 

   


“Yeah right. Don’t romanticize your creepiness.” 

   


“No, seriously-“ 

   


As for Owen, he didn’t hear them. He wasn’t hearing anything, not the next tracks playing on the jukebox nor the rounds of laughter from the people who were enjoying themselves but only the pumping of angry blood in his own ears. He knew there was something off about him. Owen walked away from his little group and leaned on the wall beside the kitchen door, dialling Lowery’s number in haste. 

   


“Sup Owen?” Lowery chirped, the rain muffled but louder on his reception. 

   


“ Lowery , I need you to cut ties with  Ibris and everything with Mills on it. Inform the board. Tonight.” He  breathed ; his hands fisted on the sheet of paper he didn’t know he was still holding.  

   


“Oh yeah, you sure?  

   


“Yes.” 

   


“May I know the reason before Claire could kill me? Both of us?” Owen heard the hurried friction of pen against paper on Lowery’s line.  

   


“I can’t go into full details now. But I’m gonna tell the management next week, okay? Set a meeting for me, will you?” Outside, the sky had started to open, endlessly pouring wrathful of waterfalls upon them. Could this day get any worst? 

   


“Of course.” Lowery replied before adding, “I knew you liked her. That’s why you’re always so persistent in trying to gauge her eyes out.” he could feel the hint of amusement in his assistant’s voice. 

   


“I like who?”  

   


“Man, you got it bad. “ 

   


“I got what bad?” 

   


“Owen, owen, owen. Who told you?” His assistant gushed over the phone. 

   


“What on earth are you on about? Look, I just found out the fucker’s been sucking us dry right under our noses.” He deadpanned, clearly not in the mood for this guessing game. 

   


 That seemed to sober him up. 

   


“Shit! For real?”  

   


“Yes. Don’t tell anyone. I haven’t got my mind around it yet. But end all remaining contracts and future contracts with Mills or anything related to him. I don’t want to wait for the board to weigh this decision but can you tell them for a general meeting on, say Monday? I want everybody in.” He pinched both sides of his nose, sounding exhausted and livid. 

   


 Maybe that second round of beer wasn’t a good idea as his head was starting to swim out of focus. 

   


“Yeah, sure boss. I mean I just thought it was for another reason… but I’m on it.” 

   


“What could possibly be the other reason?” He sighed in exasperation.? If there was something more felonious than this, he swore... 

   


“Well, at first I thought, someone told you that he’s Claire’s ex-boyfriend I mean, it could be possible with all the tension you two always have, but you know, stealing from the company was a more valid reason too.”  

   


It was his time to be surprised this time.  

   


“I knew there was something fishy about him. I mean, who would be crazy enough to date Godzilla… Man, this storm’s really starting.” Lowery babbled, not knowing the impact of his words on his friend who was also not ready for the impact it started to stir in him. 

   


“What?” 

   


“Yeah. I said this storm’s an ass!  I can barely hear you from here. We’re stuck at the office.” 

   


“No. The one about Claire and Mills.” 

   


“Well, yeah. I heard she and him were together before she even got into GC. That’s all I know. I swear. I’m surprised they’re still civil with each other. Or at least trying to. Did you see them this morning at the meeting? Of course, you did.  She clearly doesn’t want that kiss.”  

   


What. The. Hell. And that unwanted kiss that’s making him want to punch a fist-like shape through the wall. 

   


The sound of Barry and Franklin hooting a loud whistle from where they sat, still hunched over the papers with special attention their high-ranking officers would be proud of brought him back his surroundings. 

   


“Why do bad guys always seem to get the perfect women?” He heard Franklin wailed, sipping his beer as they continued reading the files on the counter. 

   


“I’ll see you on Monday, Lowery. Thank you. “  

   


“Yeah. See ya boss. Storm’s coming, be safe.”  

   


He started walking back to where his friends were, folding the paper he was clinging into in half to prevent himself from tearing it even more.  

   


“What a tool.” Barry muttered as he and Franklin turned their attention to Mills’ real estate properties. Owen leafed through the dossier, looking for something specifically when he found it, detaching the page from the pile.  

   


A group of people wearing the same shirt stood smiling at him in front of a backdrop that said Red Cross Blood Drive 2010.   

   


But it wasn’t the bright face of his dad carrying a baby, his hand pointing to the camera for the little girl to look at that struck him first. Nor the hypocritical face of a young Elijah Mills with his rounded glasses instead of the horn-rimmed spectacles he has on now, and definitely not on the woman his hands were wound upon. Her hair was long and wavy against her frame, ending just below her waist, the smile that he became acquainted recently played on her lips and her pair of green eyes already has that penetrating fire in them that sometimes render him speechless more than he would care to admit. 

   


But it was the paragraph section that followed added another reason for Owen to hit him on his face. If it wasn’t for his self-restraint, he would drive downtown to the address indicated on the file and confront him for it.  

   


_ I’m  _ _ gonna _ _ fucking kill him.  _

   


\-------------------------------------   


** 18:17  **

   


Approximately seven miles from The Den, upped by thirty-two floors, the beige polyester carpet alleviated her aching feet from the full day of wearing her new black Manolos. The pair had been on sale and she wasn’t a fool to let it pass even with the small cut on her foot still mending and protesting for looser constrictions.  

   


Hanging her bag and her coat on their assigned rods, Claire breathed in her solidarity. Finally. After a week of endless meetings, mountains of paperwork (which she already finished) and people she had to play nice with, she knew she deserved this weekend. A full weekend without take-home work, without worrying for a single unbalanced accounting sheet, without worrying that a scoundrel will ruin her perfectly planned day.  

   


Claire knew of the rainfall coming hard this weekend and she had already drawn out activities with which include binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy, reading the books she had Zara ordered for her, indulging in series of bubble baths and emptying the two bottles of 20-year-old Cabernet she’s been saving up as she listened to Jazz music playing amidst the storm. Who said she wasn’t a romantic? 

   


After grabbing a bottle of white and pouring it over the wine glass, she walked over to the window where the heavy downpour of the rain was making slashing sounds against. The blaring of car horns and other city noises disembodied as she tarried there watching the scurry of lifeforms who were trying to get from one place to another, trying their best to protect themselves from the coming storm.  

   


She never understood why, but storms comfort her. Growing up, other women would shriek when the loud noises cracked the sky, and she felt pride in her chest, complacent that she wasn’t one of them.  

   


Back in Madison, when she and her sister still share a room, Claire would see her sister cry and get under the blanket when thunderstorms strike the sky and young Claire would be there consoling her.   

   


“It’s just a storm Karen, it can’t hurt you.” Resting her hand on Karen’s shaking knees. 

   


“Easy for you to say, you’re not scared of anything, Claire.” Her sister sniffed, rubbing her hand on her runny nose.  

What isn’t to like anyway? The sound of raindrops and thunders were soothing and distracting her more than busy brain from unnecessary chatters.  

   


When they grew up, Karen doesn’t cry anymore but still cursed the skies while Claire thrived, her fondness for the violent weather growing deeply. Maybe it was the extra caution it would invoke in people, making them more in control and plan every single thing that made her giddy or maybe it was the lack of disturbance from people she doesn’t want to see.  

   


More specifically, him.  

   


Of all the years that Grady Corp. has affiliations with Ibris, Eli never went to a single meeting. It was always his assistant or other representative who was in attendance to do the job for him.  

   


So, what changed now?  

   


 Buried memories flooded back in like crashing waves and Claire’s unoccupied hand absent-mindedly grazed her right thigh where a faded mark still flawed her fair skin. It had been years since she last saw him and it was not, at all, good. But Claire had decided to look past that and held her chin up higher. After all, no man was worth her tears and Ibris was and still remained an excellent investment for future projects at Grady Corp. 

   


If Mr. Owen-I-am-smarter-than-all-of-you-and-look-how-macho-I-am- Grady would just sign the contract.  

   


Over the course of the previous months she’d known Owen, she had seen him annoyed, petulant, angry yes but never that ballistic.  

   


Earlier when he turned his back on her, she stood there for a few moments. Still as a statue, recounting the last time anyone walked out on her, which was never.  

   


Claire felt embarrassed and almost… as if, empathetic, recalling the obvious pained and sad reaction in his always bravado mask. For but a split moment, she wanted to run after him and apologise. And she almost did. Her leg and arm muscles twitching for the anticipated movement, but then she remembered herself and held back. Finally becoming mindful of the fact that for an escalating and alarming several times already, Claire Dearing stood surprise by Owen Grady.  

   


She took a swig of the sparkling liquid, downing it empty, relishing in the fuzzy feeling before going back to her kitchen for another glass.  

   


The landline in her unit suddenly rang, its asynchronous high pitch screeches shattered the lulling noises of the rain and her reverie. Leaning sideways to grab the telecom from the handler, she hailed in her strict, business tone 

   


“Claire Dearing speaking.” 

   


“Claire, I’m sorry but you weren’t answering your cell.” the  B ritish accent of her assistant distinguishable from the other line.  

   


She felt herself grip the phone tighter. 

   


“It’s alright Zara. What is it? Something wrong?” She had explicitly made it clear to her assistant that she was not to be called on her home phone unless it was something of the utmost significance. Like a fire or something.  

   


“First and foremost, I need you to calm down.”  

   


Feeling her stomach drop all the way to her memory foam house slippers, she replied, “Well, now, that’s unlikely going to happen. What happened?”  She placed the wine glass atop the marbled kitchen countertop.  

   


“Have you checked your email yet?”  

   


“No not yet. I just got home. Will you just tell me?”  

   


“Owen mandated to stop anything and everything with Ibris or Mills in it.” 

   


“What? What do you mean ‘discontinue’? Did I hear you correctly?” She marched to where she hung her bag and produced her phone from the organized pouch. So much for a quiet and phone-free weekend.  

   


“Yeah. I just got the news from Lowery. He said Owen’s gonna talk to the board on the general meeting on Monday.”  

   


8 missed calls and 12 texts all from Zara and 2 from the other members of her team. And there was it, the logo thread of an envelope with Lowery Cruthers name on it. The blood in her system went to a boiling point. 

   


She swore. That Owen Grady was gonna be the death of her.  

   


“A few of us are stuck in the office, waiting for the rain to stop and then Owen called. Lowery already informed Mills’ assistant and he hung the phone before they could complain. He said, it was Owen’s order and even he doesn’t have any idea what’s really going on.  Then Ibris called me to set another meeting next week to resolve the unmentioned issues. I told them I’ll get back at them and refer it with you first. What will you have me do Claire?” 

   


“Claire? Claire? Are you still there?” 

   


All Zara heard was a door closing rambunctiously.  

   


   


20:03 

Now 

   


The strong wind propelled the never-ending rain shower to their direction, drenching his porch, drenching his water-proof clothes and drenching hers even more. Stray of small debris decorated the air around them, the wind mad against their bodies and clothes but he couldn’t care less. Because she stood there, hellfire clear in her fierce, fierce eyes and body language while him, baffled and gawking up at her.  

   


Owen slowly lowered down his arm, suspended in the air from putting the sleeve of the water coat, sturdy from disuse as he continued to stare at her standing between the two tarnished columns. Many times, he’s invited her to come over and visit him, but all were in jest, half jokes that Owen just implied when upon noticing that it seemed to irritate her more often than  anything he would ever come up with.  

   


Albeit knowing the reason she barged in on him, though not really unwelcome, he still asked, “What are you doing here? How did you get here? Don’t you know there’s a storm-” he almost shouted over the wind, his free hand still holding the door knob open for just a few inches.  

   


“What am I doing here? Don’t be daft Owen, you’re pretty smart!” Claire Dearing took a step towards him. Her wet, furry slippers making loud squishing sounds on the wooden planks as she got closer.  

   


He couldn’t help it.  

   


“Cute slippers. Where’d you buy ‘em?” He smirked while she stood there, still glaring at him, eyes smouldering with ferocity.  

   


“Your jokes do not interest me Mr. Grady.”  

   


He went back inside, leaving the door open for her to enter at her own pace. 

   


“Oh? You sure? That’s too bad.” He removed his boots and leisurely made his way over the kitchen drawers for the flashlight and some fresh batteries, guided by the eclipsed rays of the sinking sun from his windows and the licking fires on his fireplace. Eyes on everything but hers.  

   


“How dare you do that without my consent!” She stopped in kitchen counter in front of him, a small pouch that Owen haven’t noticed before squeaked on the dry surface. 

   


“Well, I just did. Not that big a deal.” He shrugged but his hands were fumbling so much that the batteries won’t fit.  

   


“Not a big a deal? We’re supposed to be a team!” 

   


“A team. A team? Oh yeah? Is that what we are now? I thought you work better alone?” He scoffed, slamming the offensive thing on the counter with a bang, the batteries sliding to the floor.  

   


The hell with flashlight, he could get his phone and find a towel himself. 

   


“As a matter of fact, I do! But somebody always ruin it for me.” She barked from behind his back, her naked feet making angry stomps on his hardwood floors as she followed his steps to the common bathroom.  

   


“Well, we can’t always get what we want now, can we?” Where are those damn towels? He couldn’t possibly have used them all for the windows... wait, oh yeah. Damn it. 

   


 He stood up after shutting the bathroom counter closed and making his way across the hall of unoccupied chambers to the only room, he’s 100% sure has them.  

   


“That doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want just because you felt like it!” she scolded him and still following him. “This isn’t the maritime forces where being impulsive keeps you alive Mr. Grady.”  

   


“It sure isn’t, sweet cheeks.”  He replied flatly, turning around the narrow and dark hallway and into his bedroom. The white sheer curtains tucked neatly on the sides, brightening the room with slightly obscured light.  

   


“Would you stop with the stupid nicknames!”  

   


“What? You don’t like ‘sweet cheeks’?” Owen picked up his phone from his bed and looked back at her, paused on the doorway of his bedroom.  

   


“Urgh! Why are you so-?” 

   


“Appealing? Devilishly charming?” He supplied, smirking at her before typing in Mario’s home number. 

   


“-Infuriating!”  

   


“Aww. That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.” He tilted his head at her while holding the phone to his ear. The usual voicemail that he had set up for them answered him. Owen muttered a sigh of dismay. He made a mental note to himself to buy them a satellite phone.   

   


“It’s not a compliment.” 

   


“It is to me.” A slow smile reaching his lips before he walked to his bathroom to retrieve the towel he used this morning.  

   


“Are you always this stupid or do you just show off when I’m around?” she remarked from her position in the doorway, both feet never crossing the threshold, leaning forward so he could hear her. 

   


Prowling back to where she remained hot headed and wet on his bedroom door, he handed her the towel.  

   


He could not fathom how she was able to look glorious as ever with her damp hair curling on the edges, even with her shins and feet covered with specks of mud on them, her features stayed comely and nipping. As usual, his agitation and bewilderment made its way through a smug comment.  

   


“Don’t go ruining my floors now, Claire.”  

   


A bilious expression on her face, she continued to glower at him, crossing her arms over her chest, adamant.  

   


“Okay. I’ll just leave this here when you decided that you don’t want to freeze to death anymore.” He dropped the towel on the armchair beside the door and stormed past her.  

   


What is with this woman and her stubbornness. 

   


“Ibris is good for the company, they have been for the past five years!” she objected as she followed him back to the main room, her voice echoing in the now-darkening corridor that held the Grady Family pictures. 

   


Owen lapsed into a silent mode as he ambulated back the main hall, reoccupying himself by trying to contact the Legazpis and failing to do so. He was on his third try when Claire cried, her voice steady and stern, 

   


“What is your problem with Mills anyway?! Please do enlighten me with your wisdom!”  

   


Problem? Problem’s a little understatement for that criminal.  

With that, he turned around to look at her. An intensive connection of burning emeralds perusing jaditic gemstones, palpable even with the low light, pinning them both to their spots.  

   


“Look Claire, I admire your passion and what you’ve been doing for the company all these years, I really do, but you don’t have to go here, through the eye of the storm and defend that son of a bitch to my face! You’re a better woman than that!” He snapped at her, his chest rising and falling with all the constrained rage and other colours of emotions he couldn’t understand and where it originated.  

   


“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  

   


“Why don’t you go ask your ex-boyfriend, I mean, you can speak to him now right? Since your restraining order against him lifted and all.”  

   


The ounce of light coming from both ends of the hallway enabled him to see something cross her face; A countenance that sent many of his subordinates scurry off with submissive wails and tails low and between their legs.  

   


“How did you know that?”  

   


Owen had a feeling that it was a rhetorical question but he chose to answer anyway, his insides shaking and burning with an unfamiliar and strange coldness that could only be placated once he strikes Mills in the face.  

   


 “I worked for the United States Navy Claire, give me some credit.”  

   


“It doesn’t give you the right to pry on my life, or on anyone’s for that matter!”  

   


“Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me the fascinating story? I’m dying to know!” His voice a tumultuous pitch dripping with heavy sarcasm.  

   


Owen couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so discombobulated, his mind resembling Jackson Pollock paintings all at once. She trekked towards him, a few feet away. 

   


“I don’t owe you anything.” she firmly stood on the opposite wall of where he’s standing. Blazing eyes fixated on him, and for a moment, he felt like he’s some kind of hauled kill, hers. 

   


“Don’t come any closer.” his fingers clamped into white-knuckled, vise-like grips.  

   


“Who do you think you are-?” Claire ignored him, jutted her chin out and jabbed a disapproving finger at him. He could see her lips quivering from this close, the goosebumps forming on her skin, distracting him for a quick second. 

   


“Stop.” He warned, his voice quiet, almost begging. His senses getting overwhelmed by her, their eyes remained locked in an unwavering stare down. 

   


“-Coming in here with your stupid clothes and your stupid decisions, thinking you can boss me around?” she piped, her eyes wild with fury, her hands balled into tight fists on her sides.  

   


The roaring thunder and rainfall outside were a solid match with the unyielding stance of the two as they carried on with their own competitive encounter. 

   


“Welcome to my life, princess.” A sardonic grin appeared on his face before he turned around into the living room, eager to put as much distance between them.  

   


“Don’t turn your back on me while I’m talking to you!’’ At some point, she reached him and held out her hand, snatching his arm, pulling him towards her and he snapped.  

   


His impatient lips met her trembling ones in one furious kiss and by God.  

   


Cupping his hands on her delicate face, he gave in. As much as he could give her.  

   


She tasted even better than she looked; A sweet mixture of rain, vanilla and something heavenly that was all her. Teeth clashed, tongues battled, and lip bitten, both driven by arduous hunger and thirst that could only be satiated by the other.  

   


Owen could hardly think, she was kissing him back. Wrapping his arms around her warm, damp-from-the-rain, dress, wandering from her waist to her thighs; His body hunching over hers in a possessive and desperate language as if he couldn’t get enough. And now, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

   


Her wintry fingers weren’t idle either, dancing on his hair, his stubble and his neck as she pushed him closer and closer. His lips now softening their assault on hers.  

   


At the back of his mind, he wondered if he was dreaming, like all the cruel fantasies he had of her the past few weeks and he would eventually wake up, frustrated and deeply aroused but the soft moans that escaped her dreamy lips every now and then reminded him that he was not.  

   


A yell of thunder and flash of lightning trembled the heavens, illuminating the entire house and that must have brought back her to her senses because she abruptly pulled away from his embrace.  

   


As a soldier, he's hardwired to-be instinctive and always ready but the hard slap she gave him was totally uncalled for and stupefying.  

   


Both were catching their breaths, with taut and fervid bodies, lips pink and bruised with exertion. He saw her eyes widened into saucers, before taking a step back, realising her actions.  

   


With his left cheek stinging from the contact, ears slightly ringing, and a black hole opening up in his chest, he looked at her, apologetically but somewhat _not._  “I told you, don’t come close to me.” 

   


She gripped the collar of his shirt, yanking him down towards her height. He braced himself for another blow yet his libido was getting the best of him, like the 10 feet of ocean waves that almost drowned him during a morning drill at the Navy, but this time around, he was more than willing to surrender and oblige.  

   


Hesitation passed her features, a quick rest to contemplate the weight of her actions before being followed by a look of unbridled lasciviousness that Owen felt himself gulped visibly.  

   


The ruckus brought by antagonistic weather was remotely lost in his ears and her sultry voice was the only sound that mattered. 

   


Licking her lipstick smeared lips, his eyes following the contact, she uttered, hushed and dangerously low: 

   


“I’m never the one to follow your orders, Grady.”  

   


And she crashed her sweet lips to his with more urgency and great effort than he had kissed her moments ago.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe. I have to keep you hanging, haven’t I? Tell me what you think? Shall I continue to that part? Or just leave it like this? I haven’t much experience writing sexy scenes so it’s a bit of a pressure. If you have pointers and how-to’s, please give me some. I really want something to happen between them and I hate disappointing any of you. 
> 
> I also would like to credit Sherlock BBC series (which by the way is my favorite series) for “soldiers who never left the war.” It was so good. And the prompt “are you an idiot or do you just show off when I’m around.” Was from Pinterest. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! And Clawen will be back for sexy times. I’ll do my best. ;)


	5. Behaviour & Language

* * *

**BEHAVIOUR and LANGUAGE**

The wolf's strongest personality trait is its capacity for making emotional attachments to other individuals. This ability to form emotional attachments to other individuals results in the formation of the pack, or family, as the unit of wolf society.

- [https://wolfsongalaska.org/chorus/node/20](https://wolfsongalaska.org/chorus/node/20)

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 5**

 

The scenery would have awed her if not for the blustering winds and continuous drizzle that blurred the lightly tinted windows of her Mercedez, as it exceeded the required speeding limit in every country. Nevertheless, one can trust Claire Dearing to remain completely comprehensible about her surroundings.   

   
 

With slender, fair hands gripping the leather of her steering wheel, she drove past skyscrapers, concrete aesthetics, slippery muddy roads, country houses, small, family owned establishments and all manner of impressively high shrubs and plants, until it all cleared up to a wide acreage of land.   

   
 

The weather continued sending thunderous shakes which clearly mirrored her sentiment; that not even the ancient tree that stumbled on the middle of the road, blocking anyone and anything on both sides from crossing through or how the drizzle suddenly turned torrential could weaken her resolve.  

 

She hasn’t been herself but she knew the house when she saw it, having mentioned by her former boss for one or two times. The Grady Farmhouse, which she retrieved from her copy of company records, visibly stood amidst the broad span of plains and foliage. Looking between the prostrated tree and the house only a walking distance of maybe just a mile or two, she decided to continue by foot.   

   
 

The warm rain turned icy on her skin, freezing the veins in her system. She held her purse which housed her keys and phone tightly on her underarm. The annoying sounds of her cream cottony pair of slippers which was now sludgy (for it kept on sinking in soft, wet earth), in the color of burnt umber and her ringing ears were her only company on the desolated road.   

   
 

A part of her mind kept telling her that she was probably overreacting and all of this was for a good reason because however, she knew his decisions were missing common sensible judgment sometimes, they were always for the great welfare of most. And because, despite her indifference and hostility towards him, there wasn’t a time she'd been in Owen.  

   
 

But if he thought that he could dodge this deal (like all the other times he had) he was wrong, for Claire wouldn’t be held liable for the stupid actions she had taken no part of. And that was enough reason for her to reach the boiling point.  

   
 

In spite of that, the shards of icicles that had taken refuge in her for so long had started to melt when she saw him. Claire couldn’t help but feel the slight tickling in her bones that tend to bother her when he’s in her presence. Her determination was threatening to crumble down, her reasons becoming vague. She was nervous, for some reason. Nevertheless, she found it in herself to push on, letting him have a huge piece of her mind, brazenly trolling him in his own house with dirty feet. The hell with Mills, she couldn’t give a hoot about him but she couldn’t stand idly by and watch her colleagues’ hard work go to waste or yet add another chance for them to hate her guts even more than they already did. Because at the end of the day, when she’s all alone in the confines of her apartment, she was insecure. What most people think of her and whether they're satisfied or not by her leadership were the “Corporate Ice Queen’s” hidden concerns.   

   
 

But after their exchange, she couldn’t focus (which was a rare, if not, a non-existent occasion for the woman) when and after she willingly met his kiss.  Much to her surprise as well as his, she could tell.  Every nibble on her lips, every skilful stroke of his tongue and caress of strong hands on her warming body quieted all excuses in her mind. Til it wasn’t.   

   
 

The slap resonated between the two of them as if it's meant for her as well, angry at herself for not feeling horrified. What are you doing Claire? She mentally berated herself. You came here for answers! Not to make out with the boss. You are NOT one of those women.  

   
 

She was a mayhem of emotions, burning her face red as her stomach.  Her whole body tickling with a sudden emotion that was suddenly fuelling her making her want to storm out or strangle him, not necessarily in that order. But then, she raised bewildered eyes at him and the unmistakable regret and honesty, the vulnerability in his kind, green eyes vividly betrayed the harshness of his words and actions. And at that split second, she saw herself in him.  

   
 

The sky kept making percussive noises in the atmosphere as time seemed to stretch between them; An edict to allow both their identical masks to finally slip, if only for this moment, to make way for the destructive wildfire risking to burn them both.   

   
 

And she can’t shake the feeling it will bloody hell be fucking worth it.  

   
 

The coldness that seeped in her system dissolved into something akin to liquid fire as she felt him ran his calloused yet gentle hands on her face, arms, waist, and thighs, acquainting themselves on every crevice of her body, therefore melting away all her inhibitions.  

   
 

His fingers lingered on the bottom of her dress, slowly inching it higher and higher to where he was desperately needed. She deliberately pressed herself even closer to him, both moaning upon contact on the shape quickly forming inside his denim pants, halting his actions on her dress. He pulled away, letting her outfit bunched on her hips before giving the skin a tight squeeze. Claire gripped the edge of his sweater. It was not yet off of his arms when she crashed her lips to his again, and eventually, with his help, they threw it somewhere in the living room. A deep grumble echoed from his chest when she laid her glacial hands on the prominent muscles of his chest before circling her arms on his shoulder blades to his nape, forcing him closer.  

   
 

He pulled Claire towards him if that was still even possible. Pushing her against the kitchen counter, his hips pinning her against the wood in a way that made her quiver more with want. His lips never lost its eagerness on hers even as he wiped aside the dinnerware and cookbooks on the surface that she noticed earlier. The objects landed on the floorboards boisterously, making her smile. Claire felt his own forming on his but stopped it playfully by sucking and biting down his upper lip. She heard him moan before he grabbed her from behind and perched her atop the island.  

   
 

The height leverage allowed her to level her face with his, their foreheads resting against each other’s as they both try to catch their breaths.  

   
 

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t take a shower.” His hands slowly crept up her waist, the dress following.   

   
 

She hid the appreciative smile by leaning her forehead on the rounded part of his shoulder. “I won’t.”   

   
 

“Are you sure? We can stop.” He breathed, his hands stopping their explorations, brows folded and a shaky smile. The gentleman (that Claire had observed many times before) ensued in him regardless of his obvious wanton state and she got the feeling that Owen would stop once and if she said the word. But Claire doesn’t need the chivalry. Not now nor any time tonight at least.  

   
 

“I can…shower… after.” She affirmed in between each press of hot and french kisses from his jaw line to the pulse on his neck.   

   
 

He chuckled, brushing his lips against her temple “Can I join you?” his dextrous fingers had started making circular motions on her chest through the lace, making her stick them out and whimper in frustration while he lightly sucked the area connecting her neck and shoulder. She bit her lip.   

   
 

   
 

“Mmm... Maybe.” her own voice sounding foreign to her ears. She held his chin between two fingers and flicked her tongue against his swollen lips.  

   
 

Claire heard him cuss as her slim hands freely roamed his bare chest, trailing down from the display of faded scars on strong muscles to the button of his jeans. “Don’t do that.”  

   
 

Lightly nipping the outer shell of his ear; her nail tantalizingly pursued the zipper of his jeans. “Make me.” She said boldly. He groaned, clamped his hand on her wrist and parted her mouth with his tongue again.  

   
 

Her breath jammed on her throat when she felt her world being tilted and automatically locked her knees around his waist, two muscular arms went to support her weight on her ass as they shuffled to the end of the hall, back to what she presumed was his room.  

   
 

He set her down at the side of the bed, mouths still ravaging one another. Claire couldn’t remember the last time she's been kissed like this or be kissed like this, for that matter.   

   
 

His hands rubbed on her sides, making goosebumps on her already fervid skin until he disrobed her of her damp and sticky dress before she urgently helped him with his pants. Owen picked her up again and gently laid her down on the plush bed.   

   
 

The two raging storms were now futile in her senses, perhaps subdued by her curiosity which was the defense mechanism the functioning part of her brain was making up to justify her following actions.   

   
 

Her eyes fluttered closed when his lips started peppering slow, wet kisses from the spot below her ear to her collarbone, throat, and down to her sternum, his mouth intentionally ignoring the pebbled patterns straining against her bra; His fingers playing with the ribbon of her matching lace underwear before slipping a finger under the hem and making those feather-light rounded motions that did nothing to calm the pinging sensation on her lower abdomen.   

   
 

There was a reason Claire liked having control; it enabled her to get the results she wanted in the way she wanted them. But being relinquished (somewhat) of that at the moment was refreshing and kind of erotic. With others, she always insisted be on top because it allowed her to have more in control of the experience which, in her experience and opinion, was only just a work of friction, usually brisk, lousy acts and with short-lived desires that she can’t wait to get it over and done with. But how long has it been? She tried to remember the last time someone held her hand or be this intimate and fully possessed by someone.  

   
 

“Owen.” She sighed uncontrollably, arching her back, as he kissed the spot below her navel. One hand clawing the blue sheet underneath them, the other in his hair, pulling it before feeling him smile against her skin.  

   
 

“I like it when you say my name.” He trailed kisses from her abdomen until he reached the small decorative knot of a ribbon on her underwear. He tugged it between his teeth, making her hips bucked on instinct. He gave small nips against the dainty lace which now felt really uncomfortable and unwanted against her sex; he then scraped his teeth against her heat before flattening his tongue on her labia, lapping up the moisture he was the cause of. She moaned loudly.  

   
 

However, he stopped, much to her discomfort, and paid attention to her inner thighs but stopped on the torn skin of her scar, kissing it softly making her gasp at the sweet gesture. Owen continued his journey north, settling on her still covered chest, biting down and licking her through the thin fabric.   

   
 

Claire bit back another moan from coming out, realizing what he was doing and what he was not. Owen fucking Grady was teasing her, making her want to beg. Two can play at this game, she thought.   

   
 

Smirking and releasing her hold on the bedsheet, she raised a hand to the waistband of his boxers before slipping it to fully grasp his erection. She saw his eyes dilate before he dropped his head on her cleavage, his weight carried by his elbows. “Fuck.”  

   
 

He felt enormous as she slid her palms up and down his shaft, every stroke seemingly elongating it even further. With a nervous and intrepid hand, she pushed his boxers down to see him in all his glory and groaned as a word of approval.   

   
 

When she finally averted her eyes, he was already looking at her, a hint of a blush staining his cheeks, his famous one-sided smirk lighting his face. Licking her crimson lips, she gave him a mischievous look as she thumbed the tip of his member, her hands still in a solid clutch.  

   
 

“Holy fu… damn it, Claire.” He kissed her soundly before resuming his head’s position on her chest, pulling her strapless black lacy bra forcefully down to free her breasts, taking one puckered nipple on his mouth, nipping and sucking hard. Claire paused from her own teasing to relish in the feeling, body arching from his touch before resuming her hand’s previous actions, speeding up a little, the other pushed his head further to her.  

   
 

 She felt his hands lingering on the waistband of her underwear and before she can comprehend what’s happening, the piece of cloth torn and ripped away and Owen’s middle finger was inside her, teasing her there.   

   
 

Claire almost screamed.   

   
 

Her labored breathing and erratic heartbeats were so loud, she thought someone might hear them despite the storm howling pandemonium outside. He continued thrusting his digit in and out, chasing her first climax. She tilted his face and kissed him hard to try to muffle her shouts of pleasure. He groaned before adding another, his palm rubbing deliciously on her bundle of nerves, and Claire thought she might lose her mind, moaning against his open mouth when it was over.  

   
 

His fingers kept pumping in and out of her as she rode out the wave. Humming, she opened star-glazed eyes and saw Owen hovering over her, a look of wonderment spoiling his face before he swooped down and kissed her sweetly. His erection now slick but still hard and digging in her thighs, making her want to go at it again.    

   
 

In a flush of movements and rush of adrenaline, Claire flipped them, much again to his surprise. She aided him in removing his boxers and sat provocatively on his lap. Claire started to rub herself on him, still wet from his doing mere minutes ago and she was appreciated for her actions when Owen gripped her hips and started to move with her.  

   
 

She leaned backward, both her wrists on his knees, as she continued to taunt him and Owen threw his head against the headboard, hissing, with white-knuckled grips on her waist before massaging both her flushed breasts. With languid motions, she slid along the length of him, purposefully grinding her sensitive spot on the veins popping on the skin.   

   
 

They both gasped, eyes opened from delight when the tip nearly entered her. She could take him now, she thought. While she was entertaining the idea, Owen took advantage and flipped them again, fluttering her face and neck with kisses, his sex giving small thrusts against the crook of her inner thigh.   

   
 

He stopped again, making her blinked hazy orbs up at him. They held a lustful yet genuine gaze, a wordless communication passing through them. There’s no going back. They could ponder the questions and deal with repercussions later. What mattered was right here, right now and satisfying the unspoken and physical desire between them, if just this once.  

   
 

“Beautiful.” he suddenly whispered between their heavy breathing. 

   
 

Claire felt warm all over. She smoothed her fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp then pulled him down, their lipstick-smeared lips a whisper from each other, she muttered, sensing his hesitation, “Don’t stop.”  

   
 

Getting the final confirmation she knew he needed, he crashed his lips to hers for probably the thousandth time tonight. She felt rather than heard his free hand, which wasn’t gliding over her curves, reached beside the end table and fussed over something.  

   
 

He stopped with a curse. Abruptly standing up with his knees, he fished out a box from the drawer. Claire adjusted her position on the bed, laying her head against the mountains of pillows leaning on the headboard and watched him.   

   
 

“Unopened? You flatter me, Grady.” Biting her lower lip to prevent another amused snicker.  

   
 

“God, not yet. But I sure fucking hope so, Dearing.” He let out a short laugh before tearing open the sealed package and quickly putting the latex on, aligning his body with hers and kissing her chin as she giggled.  

   
 

“Good poi-ahh!”   

   
 

With no heeded warning whatsoever, he plunged forward, consuming her completely. A round of bad language suddenly echoed the room as they stayed still. Her eyes widened, the clever comeback dying on her lips, as she revelled in the new and electrifying sensation. She could feel him throb inside her and how hard and thick he was, really thick, filling her walls to the brim. Her hands went to his back, nails digging on muscles, leaving streaks of angry red lines and half-crescent marks. Locking her feet around his thighs, she egged him on, bucking her hips excitedly as he began to move with excruciatingly slow and deliberate precision.  

   
 

“Jesus, Claire.” He buried his face on her neck, hissing curses in every thrust.  

   
 

Her purrs got louder in her ears as they both found a synchronized rhythm, Making her moan in a very unladylike customary.  

   
 

Wrapping her arms around his shoulder and rubbing her chest against his, their hearts beating against the other, she whispered saucily in his ear. “Keep going.”  

   
 

He maintained the leisurely pace, yet each plunge un-taming her even more. His hands massaged and played with her jiggling breasts, adding more to her pleasure. She raised her hips to encourage him to speed up. A deep growl vibrated on his chest making him close his teeth down on an erect nipple.   

   
 

“No. No. I’m allowed to take my damn time.” He panted in tune with his pumps before running his tongue in between her breasts, voicing out their understanding that this might be the only night this will happen.   

   
 

But Claire was becoming insatiable, her patience was not her best talent. Playfully pursing her lips and firmly fastening her thighs around his obliques, she intentionally clenched her vaginal walls around him and heard his breath got caught in his throat.  

   
 

“Fucking hell. Claire” An obvious mix of pain and caution in his tone. Underneath his brooding figure, she saw his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Craning her neck up, she kissed him there before trailing her mouth to his.  

   
 

“I guess we’ll be here for a long time then.”    

   
 

“Oh yeah?” He smirked, his features softening a little while still continuing their coital embrace.   

   
 

“Uh-huh.” She moaned when he dove deep before pulling out all the way and doing it again. “Cause I really don’t say ‘Please’.  she tugged on his bottom lip as she tightened her walls again.  

   
 

With a low, primal grunt, he gave in. He clutched both her meandering fingers with one hand and pulled it above them. His bruised lips were relentless against hers, her tongue fought his, ardor for ardor before he really drove into her; long, hard and rough.   

   
 

She allowed herself to scream.   

   
 

This time she really was on fire, consuming every cell in her taut, sweaty body. His hands, lips, and hips spread flames everywhere, sending her toes curling and back arching to meet every rock until the iron bed frame was banging on the adjacent wall along with them. Their bodies were hugging each other in a hurried climactic frenzy as if trying to make up for the time they hadn’t.   

   
 

Owen’s hands released its grip on her wrists only to interlock their hands together above their heads, stretching her body even further, making her gasp against his mouth.   

   
 

Trails of intense flames started pooling on her torso, slightly slowing down her efforts, and returning her hips on the bed. Mumbling a ring of affirmation, she clung to his hands hopelessly. His tongue dipped in the hollow depth of her collarbone as he moaned her name.  

   

A rippling sensation overcame her senses and she let go, seeing the entire galaxy behind shut eyes. She beamed up at him when she opened them, a genuine smile painted on his perfectly sculpted face. Still rigid and buried in her, he brushed their lips together as she placed her hands on his lower back to her hips, pumping weakly. The movement allowed her an apt time to recover as Owen continued, hitting every spot with particular slowness that she felt her arousal building again. He gained speed not a minute too soon, impatient for the both of them.    

   
 

 Claire released his hands and treaded her fingers on her breasts to her hair before gripping one of the bars on the bed frame, her hips raising a fraction of an inch from the bed and Owen catching it with restless grips, torturing her down.  

   
 

Not soon after, another wave was peeking, begging for another sweet release. She bit down on his right deltoid, her teeth marking the spot, making him yelp.  

   
 

Two hands suddenly framed her face a series of explosions billowed through them. Claire kissed him, silencing their cries of euphoria.    

   
 

Owen leaned his forehead against hers, contended sighs bubbling on their lips before he started showering kisses all over her face. “Don’t go” she almost wanted to say but he pulled himself out of her and lie on the space on her right.  

   
 

 They were both splayed on their backs, their lungs attempting to finally restore their normal breathing when she mouthed soundlessly to hot air “Oh my god.”, still, mind blown.   

   
 

“Did that flatter you?” He tittered but not in the usual way she found complacent. No, he sounded shy and nervous and out of breath.    

   
 

 “No.” She chuckled and with the remaining strength she still has, she ran a hand on her forehead.   

   
 

“Good lord woman, you’re so stubborn. It’s driving me crazy.”    

He pressed a gentle kiss to her chapped lips before resuming his position.  

   
 

“Thank you.”  She exhaled, lips quirking upwards as she heard him move and seconds later felt the touch of a velvet fabric on her nakedness.  

   
 

A moment of stillness resumed and only but the sound of their even breaths and the heavier and endless rainfall resonated the night, lulling her to content sleep.   

   
 

Her eyes started feeling heavy when he heard him mumbled, his voice laced with drowsiness he’s obviously fighting to avoid, “Whatever… If I’m lucky, we still got that shower.”   

   
 

Claire smiled despite herself, before finally drifting off.  

 

* * *

  
 

_As if he's being chased by an extinct predator, the dirty-blonde haired boy ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. He flew past the nursery and to the family home in such a hurry that he didn’t notice the uncoiled garden hose on the ground and fell down, knees first, on the grassy earth. He gave a sharp, shrill cry. His lips and knees trembled, his green eyes teared up a little but he managed to get back up and up the flight of stairs to enter the back door of their kitchen._

  


_It was a hot summer night when young Owen, who was busy watering the plants inside the nursery, noticed the green trellis beside the Tulips and David Austin roses were turning white. It took a half a minute for his 6-year old mind to understand what’s happening, and he carelessly threw the water can away, sprinting towards the screen door exit._

  


_“Mom! Mom!” He cried out into the vacant room._

  


_“What’s the rush little man?” The calm and chuckling voice of his mother came from the corner and he turned around. The woman’s expressive sea blue eyes widened as he ran to her._

  


_“Owen! What happened? What happened sweetie?” She suddenly knelt to his height and criticized the damage on his scratched knees._

  


_“I’m okay. Come, Mom! It’s blooming! Come look!” He said between puffs of breath, grabbing her hand to try to pull her up._

  


_“No Owen. What happened?” She held back before tucking a stray of sweaty hair away from his forehead and reached for the hand towel on the counter to wipe the cloud of debris on his wound._

  


_“I just tripped. It’s fine. Now, come on! We’re gonna miss it, Mom!” He whined, his little arms stretching backward as he tried to make her mom move._

  


_“We’ll clean this after ok.” She stood up and gripped her son’s hands before shouting at the archway connecting the kitchen to the dining room. “Hey Honey? Get the first aid kit for me, will you?” A faint okay could be heard from upstairs before his mom turned to him again, the worry on her face now absent, “Now, let’s go.”_

  


_The two Gradys trekked hurriedly towards the greenhouse under the white light offered by the moon and outdoor lanterns lining the way to the greenhouse. Ellie Grady laughed as they went along, seeing his son’s enthusiasm and how adorably he told her to watch out for the water hose that caused him to trip._

  


_When they approached the trellis, he eagerly pointed a chubby finger on the vines down below and frowned._

  


_“Did we miss all of them?!” He couldn’t keep the disappointment and sad tone in his voice when he noticed the flowers in his line of sight had already bloomed when he dashed to inform his mom.  He had waited anxiously for it to bloom ever since he and his mom had planted it._

  


_“No sweetie. Look at this one.” Ellie stood up from her sitting position and crouched, leaning her hands on her knee caps while she stared at one of the buds starting to flower._

  


_“Where? Where? I can’t see it, Mom. Oh, Hang on!” The boy fussed, grabbing a tall empty tin bucket and positioning it beside his mother. Ellie carried him up by his underarms and together, they held their breath as one of the last moonflowers gradually opened its white petals for mother and son to ogle at._

  


_“Did you know Moonflowers are one of the few flowers in this world that bloom in minutes? Most flowers bloom for days, months, years even.” She apprised._

  


_“Wow.” Owen marveled , nodding and tucking his earth-covered hands firmly behind his back to prevent himself from reaching out and plucking it._

  


_“It really is huh, kiddo?” He turned to his mom who was already looking at him with the same lovable expression she always had._

  


_“Yeah. Can we plant more?” Owen said giddily, looking at another blossoming flower._

  


_“Absolutely. But we have to wait for five or six months so it’ll be the right time for them to bloom.”_

  


_“Aw man! But why?”_

  


_Her mom gave a short laugh and said, “All flowers are like that Owen. There’s special time and season in order for them to grow and bloom properly, so people can really see them at their best.”_

  


_“At their best? You mean there are people who don’t find flowers pretty?” He queried, screwing his eyebrows together. He has never met anyone who dislikes flowers._

  


_“Well, some people can’t appreciate them especially when they haven’t bloomed yet.”_

  


_“That’s alright. They’re always pretty to me.” He pouted and raised himself a few inches trying to see the last buds of moonflowers blooming. They were high above his reach consequently he extended out his arms to his mom so she could carry him._

  


_“Of course, you do sweetie, because you’re so special.” Ellie lauded, kissing his pink cheeks._

  


_Owen wiped his right hand clean on his shorts and slowly traced his fingers on one of the petals he could reach and stammered unconsciously, “ Bee-tiful .” He was in that stage in his childhood where he still was having a hard time pronouncing his consonants and vowels._

  


_“Yes, be-au-tiful .” Ellie corrected._

  


_“ Be-au-tiful .” Owen repeated, still in awe of the power of nature. He mentally counted the months he could plant them again before his mom interrupted._

  


_“Can I tell you something, Owen?” Ellie bounced on her feet so she can catch his son’s unflagging attention. He nodded as she set him down to sit on the bucket he was standing minutes ago. She sat down on his level again._

  


_“Women, Girls, they are all like flowers. You have to always respect them and treat them with much care. Always. And sometimes, you have to wait for them for a long, long time, but be patient because it’s gonna be worth it.”_

  


_“But girls are gross and mean Mom.” he blurted out with such innocent disgust that his mom couldn’t help but laugh._

  


_“Oh, you’re just saying that now, kid.”_

  


_“I mean it. Jessica was being mean, she took Glen’s puzzle the other day that’s why he punched her. And Monica, she ate glue last week.” He explained and tried to defend his school friend._

  


_“I know. But remember this, girls, boys too, we're all just misunderstood creatures and we have to try our hardest to understand them. No matter what. Don’t exchange meanness with meanness. And if you do, you have to apologize right away.  Okay, Owen?” She smiled yet again and clasped his hands between hers. Ellie was aware that she was probably throwing caution to the wind giving her child this advice but she knew Owen was empathic even at such a young age._

  


_“The people around you, especially the women, you have to treat them with so much respect as if all of them are your friends and family and fight for them when they cannot do it for themselves, better yet even when they can. Alright?” Owen felt himself nodding back, his mom’s words echoing in his young mind and etching itself to memory._

  


_“One day when you’re older and you found yourself liking somebody, you’re gonna realize all of this.” Ellie reasoned out, looking at her son intently for him to know that this was a serious subject that will later help him with his life._

  


_“Okay.“  the boy nodded again before adding, “But if I ever will like somebody, I want her to be like you.”_

  


_Her kind-hearted eyes glazed with adoration and mirth. Ellie kissed him and said “No Owen. Find someone better than me.”_  

 

 

No matter how clouded some of the memories of his mom were, Owen could still remember that night (well most parts of it anyway) and the two things that left an impact.    

   
 

He remembered how he first fell in love with nature. The little white flowers that he had taken care of for so long unfolding right before his curious eyes. Second, his mom’s evident compassion and love for him. His dad would always point out that his mom could brighten up the room. Young Owen didn’t know what he meant by that back then. But thinking about it now, he could recall the certain glow she always possesses and her words that still echo in his mind: ‘Respect people. Respect women.’   

   
 

However, for the time being, he’s trying his best to loop that last bit to himself.  

   
 

He had woken up first. The grumbles of thunder which were still whirling chaos outside was a better wake up call from the weakened shrieks of the alarm clock on his end table. The morning was cold and wet with the wind continuously sweeping light rain across the partial darkness of his surroundings. The power must have come back sometime in the night since it was providing harsh light for the two occupants. He carefully reached over her sleeping figure and lowered down the glares of the lamp on her side. Owen dawdled for a few minutes to study her delicate features, knowing full well that he might never have the opportunity again.   

   
 

A sudden realization overcame him, gripping his insides a little too tightly that he feared another squeeze, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. After everything that transpired on probably the most memorable night of his days, he wasn’t ready to find out if she regretted it. The thought filled him with a pang on his chest as he continued to gaze at her slumbered state. But wouldn’t it be something if she did not. He shook the hopeful thought before lightly grazing his lips to her hair, committing the way she looked, smelt and felt to memory before cautiously getting up from the bed and covering himself in sweatpants and his Navy shirt.   

   
 

With painstaking movements of a soldier in a mission, he traipsed across the room and picked up the strewn clothes off of the bedroom floor. Owen felt himself blush when he caught hold of her torn underwear. He folded it neatly before tucking it with the clothes he would launder.   

   
 

No matter how he would prefer her to parade in his house sans of clothing, Owen grabbed the smallest articles of clothing he could find in his closet, laid them on the armchair and engaged himself in his weekend morning routine.  

   
 

It stopped raining but the sky remained pallid, the sun hiding behind the grey clouds and the wind continued thrashing about, making whistling noises as it went. By the time he finished feeding his animals and doing the laundry, he heard movements from somewhere inside the house and the unmistakable batter of his shower going off. He went to the kitchen to prepare them breakfast, but not before cleaning up the utensils, reading materials and his sweater loitering on the floor.   

   
 

While he was laying layers of pancake, eggs, and sausages on the dinnerware, she walked in. Greeted him good morning and smiled politely.   

   
 

He barely could focus on making his morning coffee, (as if such a task required that much attention before, but now, by some event, it did), he couldn’t concentrate on anything. Period. Not now. Not when Claire Dearing was sitting on one of the stools in his bar island, fresh from her shower, her usually ironed locks were now unkempt and wavy as it cascaded over her shoulders and looking like she just fell out of a magazine and instigating havoc and at the same time, a sense of calmness on an uncharted territory.   

   
 

She was wearing his old black henley yet the shirt that he meticulously picked out for her was still too big and he tried not to think of his blue boxer shorts which she had rolled up to her waist to prevent it from falling down her mile-long legs, hidden behind the counter separating them.   

 

They engaged and fell on an easy conversation about the weather and where her car was before talking about the elephant in the room.  

   
 

He was leaning on the sink as he studied her from the rim of his mug as she indulgently read Mill’s folder, which she extracted from him. The cup of coffee and plate of half-eaten banana pancakes lie abandoned in front of her. He watched as her eyes move word after word, her eyebrows knitting together in obvious ire and comprehension. Owen drifted his eyes back and forth towards her and the grim weather in case she suddenly looked up from her reading and caught him staring at her.   

   
 

In his defense, it was not like his fault that she was that damn magnetic and attractive. Even without an ounce of make-up on or the straight-edged clothes she always seemed to have, she still managed to appear ravishing. So, supposing if she caught him, he’ll blame her for giving him the best night of his sex life.  

   
 

“That son of a bitch!” She exclaimed all of a sudden and Owen gave her a timid smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.  

   
 

“You’ve gotten to that part huh?”   

   
 

“We’ve been their partners for years! Years! How can I not notice this?” She held the sheets of paper in one hand before throwing them on the surface in anger.  

   
 

“The man’s a total creep. Even my friend had a hard time retrieving that piece of information.”   

   
 

“And to think, we’ve been thinking, I’ve been thinking of extending our contract...” His brows raised on the word ‘we’ before she corrected herself with an eye roll.  

   
 

 “I should have known. Eighty million Owen, eighty million worth of private and ghosts accounts…” She shook her head in disbelief.  “Could you believe that the bastard’s always organizing these galas and fundraising skits every two months? and all of them was a trick, a lie. All those people…” she trailed off, avoiding his eyes. “Your dad and I, we trusted him. Alan had faith in me and I disappointed him.”  

   
 

Owen could almost hear the admission of regret and apology in her pensive voice. This was the first time he saw her this exposed and insecure and he almost couldn’t believe it. Claire Dearing always knew what to do, given every situation. Hell, she even went all this way to confront him just because, beneath that nonchalant exterior, she cared; For her people, for his company. Placing the empty mug on the sink and leaning forward on the counter in front of them, he assured,  

   
 

“Hey. Hey. Look at me, Claire. Don’t blame yourself. Nobody’s to blame here but him. Okay? It isn’t your fault” Ducking his head to try to catch her solemn eyes. “And don’t worry about my dad, I’m sure disappointment is the last thing he’s feeling now." 

   
 

She gave a small smile and a nod, and he felt relieved.   

   
 

“Well then, what shall we do about it?” She cast her eyes at him, sad and indignant yet enthralling. Owen felt something kick him in the stomach. “I have an idea, but I think you may not like it.”   

   
 

“Go on.” She implored in that strict tone he always hears in meeting rooms. She nestled her body on the backrest and crossed her legs in front of her, allowing him to finally glance at the glistening skin he'd been enchanted by.   

   
 

He collected himself quickly, flipping the papers and rereading the transaction numbers between Grady Corp and Ibris, his mind making an impulsive decision.  

   
 

“I’m gonna buy Ibris, all their shares and its other affiliations, everything. Until there’s nothing left for Mills to sink his teeth into then fire the bad employees starting with that asshole.” He quipped and for the first time since their working relationship started, he was silently asking for her permission.   

   
 

But she sat there, looking heavenly in his clothes with that familiar sober and authoritative expression on her face meant to terrorize his poor employees. She blinked before a knowing smirk brightened up her whole façade. He felt himself mirroring her.   

   
 

“You’re not so bad when you think things through Grady.”   

   
 

“Well, stick around ‘cause I still got a few tricks up my sleeve.” He teased.  

   
 

She scoffed and instead of retaliating back, she grabbed a mouthful of pancakes from her plate.  

   
 

“Let me have some of that.” Owen arranged the papers, tucking them away and pulled the plate between them. Happily munching down a whole cake in one bite, a deep frown entrenched itself on her perfectly freckled face.  

   
 

“Hey! Those are my pancakes.” Her outstretched hands reaching for the ceramic before he shielded it with his hand.   

   
 

“Let’s share. I don’t have any stocks left.”   

   
 

“But I’m hungry.”   

   
 

“So do I! Look, I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday and someone worked up my appetite pretty well last night.” He jested, waggling his eyebrows in a risqué way she might not approve.  

   
 

“That’s not funny.” She crinkled her nose at him but her eyes fleeted with repressed delight before they turned sober, sinking herself on the chair once more as she allowed him to finish the plate.  

   
 

“Your sheets, I uhm.. I can buy you a new one in case the mud stains, you know, won’t come off.”  She stammered before rolling her shoulders and lifting her dimpled chin, simulating aloofness.   

   
 

 Owen felt pride swell in his chest when he noticed the red rush blooming in her cheeks. He winked at her. “You can mess my sheets anytime.”  

   
 

Claire pursed her lips and nodded at him, “Right.” her blush rushing her face. The shit-eating grin proliferated itself on every pore in his skin, making him feel light and strong all over.   

   
 

“Well, at least let me wash the dishes.”  She heaved the bar stool back, stretching her arms as she did so. Owen shook his head in disagreement.  

   
 

“No. My house, my dish-” he stopped mid-sentence as his eyes caught a clearer glimpse of the rounded lesion on her right thigh from when she was about to stand up.  

   
 

 A restraining order filed against him after the subject engaged in an altercation with his past relationship and accidentally firing his registered gun at her. The subject stayed in prison for three days before his attorney processed his bail.  

   
 

The scar faded yet distinct on her otherwise milky skin. Owen knew a great deal about scars (having a hundred of them himself) and as he pieced two and two together, his vision darkened with fury.   

 

She froze and hurriedly lowered her hands, tugging the shirt down.   

   
 

Owen straightened his back and rounded the bar, stopping in front of her. With considerate intention, he fixed hooded green eyes on wide-set ones in a steady intent look, hearing her take a deep breath. He was lost for a moment before whispering, promising. “I’m gonna fucking kill him if he ever touches you again.”  

   
 

She smirked, letting her breath tickle his chin. “Not if I kill him first.”  

   
 

In a courageous move, Owen swept her fringe to the side with a gentleness that doesn’t seem to surprise both of them anymore. Owen wasn’t the one for grand romantic exploits and reverence (much would be his mom’s disappointment) But with her, for whatever reason, he was voluntarily doing everything by the book. She, amazingly, leaned to his touch.   

   
 

With that, he lightly clasped the back of her neck and pulled her to him, his mouth already looking forward to the connection.  

   
 

Until.   

   
 

Three obnoxiously loud knocks.  

   
 

“Owen? Owen? Are you there?”  

   
 

Both hot-blooded adults were left paralyzed on their spots.   

   
 

 “I’m sorry for not coming as soon as I can.” The voice continued, and Claire sprung away from him.  

   
 

Owen cursed, recognizing the voice of the notorious woman behind the door. “Fuck.”   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holaaaaaa! I’m sorry for the delay. I promised to post this before the end of 2018 but I had to take a step back and really think about this chapter. I felt like I needed to write this in Claire’s point of view to assure my readers that Owen was not being forceful with regards to his behaviour towards her or anything like that. On a side note, I totally cringed on using God’s name in vain. I don’t use that when I swear so it’s kinda weird writing about it, sorry about that. 
> 
> Anyway, congratulations to our main man Chris Pratt on his recent engagement, although my heart broke a little. That’s one hottie taken from us. Again. ☹
> 
> Tell me if I totally butchered this story and I’ll dig up a hole and disappear forever. Thank you so much for reading! Pointers and your thoughts are always welcome! You guys are the best!!!
> 
> ***Also, I have no idea why my chapter 1 end notes would always appear every time I post a new chapter. Are you having that problem as well? It's getting kinda annoying.


	6. Lone Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Not- What the heck. I’ll leave a long note down below. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one. 😉

* * *

 

**LONE WOLF**

 Wolves are famous for living in packs, therefore, a lone wolf is one that, for whatever reason, has no pack or prefers solitude to the company of others. (www.writingexplained.org)

 

 

* * *

  
 

"I bet you 20 dollars that I can say the rest of your schedule within or under 50 seconds." boasted his assistant interrupting Owen as he looked out the window into the jammed streets, bored out of his own mind.   

  

"Raising the bar on yourself, aren't you Lowery? Ok. How many are there?" He quickly looked over his shoulder and caught Lowery as he counted the items listed on his tablet, mouthing the numbers as he did so. "12. You got a dozen more appointments for the rest of the day, Boss."  

  

"What do you think Dan? Think he can do it this time?" Owen asked, in playful disbelief at the chauffeur beside him.  

  

"Don't know Sir, but I wouldn't mind a bottle of beer after work." The third-aged man in sunglasses and black suit cracked a smile, stopping at the headlight beside the Chicago theatre.  

  

"Let's see what you've got. Hold on. Let me switch the timer." Owen nodded, adjusting his wristwatch to a stopwatch mode while Lowery started his mouth ‘warm-ups'.  

  

They had had a little made-up game of "How-Many-Things-Does-Owen-Have-To-Do-Today since the start of the month; mainly to motivate themselves for the taxing day ahead and to ease the lack of mobility during the traffic jam which. It was his assistant's idea, having heard Eminem on endless repeat on the car radio and getting semi-inspired by it as he called it. Having nothing else to do and with little entertainment in his hectic schedule, Owen decided to play along.    

  

"Just so we're clear, I'll start on the things from haven't done yet. So, I'm not cheating."  

  

Owen's free wrist bent backward, his palm showing and making a give-me gesture. Lowery handed him two crumpled ten-dollar bills.     

  

"Ready… and… Go"    

  

"All right, 12:30 pm Sales talk the crap out of JVR Global. Have a meeting slash lunch with the executives at the GC Chicago branch. Then go over and meet Ian Malcolm at 13:10 then AT and T VP at 13:45, 14:30 on the Trump tower, heaven knows how long that'll take. You're free till 4 pm but you'll be meeting the lawyers, yours and Mills, at the office again at 16:10. Then 17:00 Skype conference call from one of the companies you're buying, afterward, Call Barry then Franklin Webb-"  

  

"Ten seconds…" Owen raised his folded elbow, slightly inclining his body towards his assistant burbling sentence after sentence at the back seat.  

  

"-18:00 short appointment with the Alan Grant Foundation, make an appearance at St. Bernard's and sign free scholarships for University of Illinois and 20:15 dinner meeting at the Renaissance Hotel with some guys from Make-a-Wish. And the plane would be ready to leave when you please AND BOOM!"   

  

"Stop! 47.28 seconds!   

  

Dan managed a slow, sarcastic clap before returning to the traffic ahead. Owen handed his assistant his money back and produced a 20 from his slack's pocket.   

  

"Wow, we really are so pathetic," Lowery said with a self-deprecating snigger. "We need to get laid."  

  

Both men on the front seats laughed at the pained, pitiful expression on his face. "What? Say, Dan, you know any good joints in this city?" Lowery insisted, moving closer to the middle console between them.  

  

"Can't say I do. I'm happily married."   

  

"You're no fun. How about you Owen? Shall we explore the city before we go back to Cali tonight?"  

  

Owen wasn't sure about the getting laid part though but instead of bursting his friend's bubble who has worked nonstop with him and very well deserves a night off he agreed, "Yeah sure." dismissively.   

  

"See, that's why he's such a good boss!" Lowery cried, pointing a finger at Owen all the while looking at Dan. "You are a good boss! I could kiss you, man!" shaking Owen's shoulder before brashly shouting "We're getting laid tonight!"   

  

In truth was, he was still reeling from that night with Claire.  Even after a month. Owen usually doesn’t mull over his escapades longer than an hour but maybe it was the unexpectedness of it all that made the memory linger longer than necessary.   

  

It was the very first time he brought someone over the farmhouse (well, she actually stormed in, but he was sure as hell wasn't complaining again) where he swore that he would never desecrate with any of his relationship and flings. Now, he could not un-see his house without memories of her in it and quite surprised with himself by how much he wanted her in it again.   

  

Owen thought that once he slept with her, his infatuation would finally diminish, just like with the other women he had forgotten and bedded on one too many drunken, careless nights. But for some inexplicable reason that he didn't want to bring into the light just yet, spending the night with her had fuelled if not ignited the attraction he felt. She's a goddess, a celestial being who has stirred strange sensations unknown to him. At the back of his mind, he knew he was goner; knew that he had and would never have that level of intimacy and passion with another person ever again.   

  

He remembered going to work on that Monday after their secret rendezvous, distracted but euphoric but his hopes to flirt and score a proper date this time went down the drain when he saw no recollection of their tryst in her eyes. It shouldn't leave him with an upset feeling in his stomach because they had agreed to never let it happen or talk about it, but it did anyway. Owen felt restless, having to endure the fact that maybe he put more investment on it than she had. So, he brushed it off, delving deep into his job just as she was doing inexplicably well. They managed to get into an argument later that day with him deliberately initiating it this time, a pretty petty way to try to get a reaction her, he just now realized. But he could not help it. Her, not wanting anything to do with him and their conflicting suchlike personalities made her more fascinating and irresistible in his book that he sometimes disagrees with her just for the sake of seeing her ready-to-pounce attitude and her green, green eyes, alive with pride and heavenly fire. It's frustrating, disturbing and... _new_ at the same time.  

  

Nevertheless, it was his demoted ego that made him choose to say his next words,  

  

"Drop us off at Uptown later, will you Dan?"  

  

* * *

 

 "They don't know how to take care of you, I do." Claire declared while fidgeting with her gold Parker and absent-mindedly staring out at the silhouette of the clouds splayed across the clear blue sky hidden behind the cream-colored curtains of her office.  

  

It was a typical day of the busy weeks she's been having. Her Samsung and pen were practically extensions her hand, And frankly, she loved the chase and adrenaline of it all.   

  

"I've seen your potential and you know very well for a fact that I don't get impressed that easily."  She wheedled, confident about her standing business offer for the person on the other end of the line.  

  

"I don't know yet Claire, can I think about it?" Hearing a slight moment of hesitation in her voice, she added,   

  

"Come on Erica, you're the best person we know. Heck, this job was practically made for you. You're amazing, talented and hands on. You're perfect!" Claire implied, chuckling as the woman on the phone laughed again before continuing to express her now-softening misgivings.   

  

The loud scrape of the wooden door against the tiled floor made her swivel her chair around to face whomever it was and found Zara peeping her head from behind the door, her voice low to a whisper, she nodded for Zara to continue. "Claire, your sister wanted to know if dinner's still on next weekend?" Claire nodded curtly, half-hearing her but held her thumb up as confirmation.  

  

"Look, I just don't want to see my friend's talents go to waste." She said, a hand resting on her heart in jocular concern.   

  

The potential recruit laughed and sighed, defeated. "You know how to practically butter me up to don't you? I'll just pretend you're not bribing me."  

  

Claire smiled, biting down on the knuckle of her forefinger, "So… it's a yes?"  

  

"I don't think anyone had ever or can say no to you, Claire."   

  

"Excellent! I'll set a meeting right away. Hold that, is the 20th ok? My assistant would call you for the place and time."   

  

"All right!"   

  

She penned ‘Erica Burnard- Ibris new Vice President of Accounts!!! smiling to herself again. Persuading has always been the highlight of her many business skills. That and her ability to hold her psyche together which in present time proved a real advantage.  

  

 "By the way, I'm not usually one to entertain gossips, but I've heard about that Owen Grady." She could hear the playful tone of the woman residing a few buildings away that the splitting grin on her face melted into a nervous frown.  

  

 "What about him?"  

  

"Is he as stunning as his pictures in the tv? He seemed popular among the women in my department as well."    

  

Claire rolled her eyes in an un-eager attitude yet the discreet pinkness of her cheeks spoiled it for her.   

  

 "A military man in Dolce and Gabbana, my, my, my."  

"Still a fine piece of ass since I married him. Alright. No need to get your corporate panties in a twist. Or whatever is it these days." 

  

"Right… How's Neil again?" she teased monotonously before hearing Erica's chuckles vibrated through her headset.   

  

"Still a fine piece of ass since I married him. All right. No need to get your corporate knickers in a twist. Or whatever is it these days."  

   

"Bye Erica."   

  

"See you, Claire."   

  

She removed the Bluetooth headset off her ear and leaned back on her chair, head tilted up towards the ceiling, her shoulders stressed from exertion.  

  

The past month had been nothing but a hurdle; days and hours of nothing but phone calls, arduous meetings and a desk-full of new and amended contracts. Owen stayed true to his word, acquiring the shares and stocks of a dozen companies under Ibris and negotiating with a lot of their business peers for the full and legal transfer of management that they hardly ever saw him or Lowery.   

  

Ever since the paperwork went out of the Grady Corp's new acquisitions, several affiliations and charitable institutions found out about Mill's dishonesty and they filed left and right embezzlement cases against him and some of his accomplices, attracting the attention of the press and putting Grady Corp in the spotlight again much especially on its ‘debonair' heir. The cases were still ongoing and Mills was apprehended but wouldn't commit to his crimes even with the pieces of evidence laid out against him. His unmistakable pretentiousness led to him being banned on any Grady Company premises until further notice.  

  

She peered at her clock and noticed the hands nearing 10 to 5. A low grumbling sound from her stomach reminded her that she hasn't eaten her lunch yet. She groaned, annoyed at herself for forgetting again.  Maybe she needs to start putting down ‘Lunch' in her itinerary just as her sister jokingly suggested. She then checked her to do lists, noting that her next call appointment was not for another 30 minutes. She grabbed the red paper bag containing the take-out Zara ordered for her and opened it. Naturally, the Bolognese pasta had run cold. Not wanting to disrupt her assistant, who when she saw her passed her desk stood up hastily and insisted to do it herself to which her boss shook her head No. Plus, it would be a quick break to stretch out her legs, numbed from sitting since 7 am this morning.   

  

She has yet to enter the hallway leading to the cafeteria when she heard volumes of deep laughter. From the double glass door entrance, she saw a group of their male employees huddled over something or someone at the breakfast nook of the cafeteria, clearly amused with the story they had just been told. Then she caught a glimpse of the narrator amidst the group, the amusing story still tumbling from her thin lips.   

  

At first, Claire thought she was Owen's cousin. There was a certain familiarity in the air between her and Owen strengthened through years of countless barbecue dinners and other mainstream family events which Claire made herself scarce of. She knew the Grady family background, having studied them with Alan Grady's lawyers when they were looking for another heir (because they didn't think his only son would comply) therefore she knew the woman couldn't be his cousin. A very distant one, she could be. Or a past lover. Nevertheless, family or lover, thank God for the mystery woman, for if it was not for her impeccable timing on that fateful morning, the two adults in the farmhouse could have re-enacted certain night-time activities albeit the unspoken plan. And Claire still was not at peace with herself as what to feel.   

  

Claire tried her best to avoid her but with her being around, roaming the office grounds in her ankle boots and shoulder-padded blazers, it was a grueling challenge. Getting caught with her hand still hot in the cookie jar (if said cookie jar was over 6-feet tall of pure muscles, charm and was a damn good kisser) was not her idea of a good first impression.   

  

Christianne was beautiful. Going by the second glances and stares from the employees when she visited their Chairman, she was an eye-turner. Long, dark hair, petite in height, strong cheekbones, daring black outfits and what could everyone in the office could see, a strong, don't-fuck-with-me persona.   

  

On multiple occasions when Owen was in the office, Christianne would go with him along with Lowery, who at first meeting with the woman, was practically drooling like a fish out of water which Zara would gladly point out to him in front of large crowds. Her appeal among their male employees was palpable; their tongues twisting and eyes gawking at her semi-exposed chest when she would talk to them.   

  

But then their "little crush" ceased sometime during the middle week of her coming and going in the premises. And Claire scoffed, proving another very typical behavior of men: ogling on their shiny new toy then losing interest after a certain amount of time.   

  

But Claire doesn't have a problem with the sudden and rather impulsive addition to their employees or the averted attention so as long as people show up to work and could get their job done.   

  

Claire walked to the counter island, quietly and asked the resident cook to heat her lunch and willing herself invisible for a few good minutes before,  

  

"Hey, Claire!"    

  

And failing.  

  

She could feel the eyes boring into her back, she groaned before turning around, covering her grimace expression with a polite smile.   

  

"Hey, how are you?" She asked before noticing the men around her straightened their backs and moved farther away from the female within their midst, parting in the middle for the two women to have a clear view of the other. She leaned an elbow on the backrest of her seat in an intimidating manner she wasn't aware of.  

  

 The men cleared their throats and adjusted their ties and dress shirts in scamper movements resembling perfect little schoolboys who became cautious in the presence of the school disciplinarian.  

  

"Pretty good. You haven't seen Owen, have you?" Christianne queried with a straight face although Claire saw the slight twitch of the corners of her lip.    

  

She couldn't help the hot flow of blood that rushed to her neck and cheeks. "Uhm no. "  

  

"He's been looking for you. He said he couldn't even go to your office or your cell without people hauling him in the other direction."   

  

"I see." She slightly rounded her chair when the cook approached with a hot plate of Bolognese pasta, offering her a grateful smile.  "Haven't seen Lowery either. Where are they now?" She asked flatly and not in the way she was curious or whatever.   

  

"Oh, he had to take an important flight to Chicago last night, but I think he'll be back later."   

  

"Okay, I'll make sure Zara informs me the moment he gets back. Thank you."  

  

"If I didn't know Owen any better, I'm sure he-" she was cut off by the sudden flash report playing on the screen.  

  

"And now, for the latest news of Grady Corporation and Ibris former CEO, Elijah Mills. Reporting to you live from Chicago, Michael Davids with the latest scoop in this corporate scandal."  

  

"Turn it up!" someone shouted from the room. Claire inclined her head on the television mounted above the lounge chairs. Some of the staff employees walked closer, snacks in their hands as a blonde anchorman in a business suit appeared.   

  

She felt cold, well colder, as the man continued on with his story. Her hands held the edge of her seat in a choking grip, her stomach felt like it digested acid, and the pasta that's been appetizing a few seconds ago dried on her mouth like cement. Hesitant and unbelieving eyes averted to her direction and she had the feeling of riding the roller coaster. Only there was no seatbelt.  

  

“Mills, you son of a bitch,” Claire muttered,  pushing her plate away and sliding down her seat, phone in hand and fully aware of the looks of incertitude from the people around her.   

  

She made her way back to her office when suddenly, a man she had never seen before stood blocking her office door, Zara looking appalled beside him.  

  

“Miss Claire Dearing, can we talk?   

  

* * *

 

The browned haired, Danish-looking woman grabbed his forearm as she let out a shrill laugh that would irritate Owen if he wasn't slightly intoxicated.  

  

"I don't believe that! You are such a liar!"  

  

Owen took a quick gulp of his beer. "I am not! Chivalrous men like me never lie."   

  

"Ahh, you're a gentleman?" She flirted, the sharp heel of her stilettos seductively running down the hem of his pants.    

  

"In my spare time, yes." He smirked, playing the empty bottle of beer in hand, oblivious to the incessant vibration of his phone in his pocket that stopped before he could get to it.   

  

"So… where are you staying?" The woman giggled, tipsy and scooched closer to him while he automatically placed an arm on the backrest of the booth behind her. Owen tried to focus on anything but the stench of cigarettes coming off her mixed with the blue fruity cocktail she has drunk.  

  

"Well-"  

  

"Owen! OWEN!"   

  

The distinctive voice of Lowery yelled from somewhere behind him and the powerless panic and earnestness in his tone made him sober up and fully turn around in his seat.  

  

He frowned when he saw him, the button of his dress shirt still half done; Clearly out of breath from running to him or something he didn't want to know. The phone's lit screen was swaying back and forth whilst he ran and had dimmed down when he reached him.   

  

Lowery never got to the rest of his sentence when upon the first words out of his mouth, Owen abruptly stood up and left the bar and the woman without even so much as a second glance.   

  

_"It's Claire."_

  

* * *

  "Elijah Mills, former CEO of Ibris Trading had been fired by his board led by Owen Grady, multi-billionaire son and only heir of Alan Grady, of Grady Corporations. Mr. Grady, for the past month, had bought all of Ibris', its shares and dealings, basically stripping Elijah Mills off of all of his legacy and in the last stages of legalisation. But get this, this is the part where it gets interesting, Vice President of GC, Claire Dearing had been romantically involved with Elijah Mills. Was Dearing involved with Mill's schemes? Schemes that involved stolen millions of dollars from high-earning companies. A representative from Grady Corp had yet to formally offer a statement on this turn of events."   

  

The television switched on yet muted, its reflected image dancing on the wide window Claire was staring at. She wasn't paying attention to it, instead, her eyes followed the car lights driving around the city, a bottle of Sauvignon in one hand and an open almost empty bag of chips on her lap.   

  

Her phone had rung nonstop ever since she got back from the office that she had to switch it off and hid it in her closet. It was kind of liberating if she said so herself, thinking that maybe she ought to do it once in a while. She exhaled a deep breath and chugged straight from the bottle, allowing the liquid to drown her memories. But flashbacks still impelled forward. The argument. Mills's hands on both her arms in strong deadly grips. Her pushing him away with all her strength and the gun he always carries on his pocket. She vigorously shook her head as if it could somehow finally erase the scar in her memory.  

  

Her talk with one of the new associates of the Grady firm advised her to stay out of the Bloomberg News for tonight because he had ties with one of the channel’s executives.   

  

Of course, they will bring it up. How could they not? Claire has had a fair share of dealings with a number of media nonsense, their spineless and demotivated stories. Yet she stayed on top of it all with chin held up high and square shoulders. But in this case, it was a sensitive subject. One she hoped they would forget just as she barely did. The only option she had to clear her name was to let the public know of her history with Mills and she was on edge to reopen that chapter in her life again.   

  

Claire could almost see the business headline tomorrow, ‘Immoveable Corporate Bitch Queen Claire Dearing linked in massive business scams. She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood to prevent the warm sensation threatening to fall from behind her eyes. She took a huge gulp from the bottle, scrunching her face on the bitter taste.   

  

Minutes passed by and Claire continued to watch the walk of life below her.  

She recalled an incident at the office from a former employee months ago. His snide and degrading comment was the last straw for him from being fired. "You're gonna die all alone in that ivory tower as cold you bitch." He was let go 3 days after when the financial department finally had proof that he had neglected his reports and duties. Fucking men.   

  

Before she went and switched off her phone though, she called Karen. Her elder sister by three years asked how she was, talked about the latest family gossip and her nephews before going 10 minutes straight, reminding her the importance of having and believing in other people.   

  

"It's not a weakness when you ask people for help Claire. You don't have to shoulder the world's biggest problems alone… I admire your high sense of self-subsistence, Mom and I really do but everybody needs help. Even you. Plus, it's not a bad thing to show you care about people, you know... I know you care about them even if you say you don't… And I‘ll kick Mill's ass when I see him."  

  

Her sister, even the thousands of miles between them, as always, has a point.  

  

At the corner of her eye, she read the reverted letters of her name and two very familiar faces. She whipped her head and all but tumbled for the remote. The marquee reading “CEO of Grady Corporation finally released a statement about the involvement of Claire Dearing"   

  

"...I can tell you that our team is currently handling the sooner imprisonment of Mr. Elijah Mills and his associates in this crime. Miss Dearing is a trusted confidant and colleague of mine and my late father. And I speak with verity when I say that we're absolutely faithful that she had nothing to do with this, she is innocent.  Of the years she worked for the company, she had not let anyone down. I never mistrusted her nor ever doubted her loyalty. As we all do in Grady Corp. we wouldn't be where we are now if it wasn't for her devotion and commitment for her work and for the company. That’s all I have to say." Owen declared, genuinely smiling. His charisma luring the group of reporters and flashing cameras that surrounded him. The anchorwoman reappeared again yet, her words distant again on Claire.   

  

Suddenly, trembling fingers curled on her parted lips, becoming wary that the loud intake of breath she heard came from her throat. With wobbly and semi-drunkenness stature, she headed over her closet and retrieved her phone, ignoring the missed calls and hundreds of messages before sending a text to Zara, beaming with warmth as she did so.   

* * *

 

Owen put the car on neutral but didn't kill the engine. He stayed inside the car for a short 8 minutes, cranking his neck from side to side to try to get rid of the mild headache from this morning's early flight back. To say that he's exhausted would be a cliché and the understatement of the millennia because having just a total 10 hours of sleep for the last month, was not at all recommended.   

Breathe Owen.   

  

He grabbed his things from the passenger seat and approached the small reception area towards an energetic and simpering Artie.  

  

"Good morning Owen Sir."  

  

"Morning Artie, may I inquire as to why are you such in a happy mood today?"   

  

"Saw you on tv the other day..." Artie handed him and Lowery's mail for the past week they had been in and out-of-town.   

  

"And?" Owen continued, shuffling through the envelopes.   

  

"Ask her out already! Damn it, dude!" The young man encouraged, exasperated.   

  

 "As much as I'm delighted that you're keeping tabs on my romantic life, please don't."  Owen chuckled. "By the way, is Miss Christianne here already?"   

  

" You know, she's gonna be so mad at you if she hears you. But yeah. She likes to hang out at the cafeteria. Where'd you get that woman anyway?" Artie jibed, shaking his head as Owen entered the lift. A mischievous smirk played on his face as he swiped his card on the screen, the doors closing in on him.   

  

"You don't wanna know, young man, you don't wanna know.",   

  

He saw Zara holding file folders, tucked and balanced under her each arm the second the elevator reached their floors. He greeted her cheerily. "Zara! Why are you still here? I've given you the week off!"  

  

The British woman stopped on her tracks and turned to him. "Oh, hey Owen! How are you?"  

  

"Oh, you know, tired but still handsome. Thanks for asking." He deadpanned smugly to which she let out a short laugh. "Why are you here?" He repeated, hooking his backpack on his shoulder before holding out his hand to help her. "You're getting married this weekend!"  

  

"Still lots to do." Obliging him with half her load.  “Oh, I have to text Claire, You're here. She told me to text her the moment I got hold of you." She raved with obvious glee, tapping seldom keys on her phone with her free hand.  

  

The corners of his eyes crinkled, a subtle upward quirk of his mouth suddenly rubbing away his haggardness. If he's amused by that note, he showed little trace of it. "Aww, your boss missed me?"   

  

 " I guess we'll never know. " Zara winked, snickering. "But I did miss all the bickering. Seems like the day wouldn't be complete without you two going at each other's necks. It's quite entertaining, really. I've never seen her get mad like that at someone."   

  

He let out a chortle before nodding at the guy who waved at him. The floor's deserted with only five groggy people sipping their first morning coffees. Then they fell eerily quiet.  

  

"I saw you on the news.." Zara started. "What you said about Claire-"   

  

"You don't believe me?" He exclaimed in a quiet, negating tone.  

  

"You haven't let me finish! No, I do believe you. A lot of guys here thought so too. I mean, we knew Claire even longer than you did but we agree with you. Even though she's… you know, kind of pain in the arse sometimes, she cares about us, about this company in her own little odd ways. Claire never accepts help, so I make it my way to discern what needed helping and what not. Anyway, if you ever needed someone to back you or her up in court on that statement, a lot of us here would be willing to do that for her.”  

  

Owen knew Claire's reputation among his employees, her icy and authoritative stature towards everyone but never had he heard someone openly talk respectably about her before. He felt an ounce of pride took over him that someone could see and appreciate her just as much as he did. "I'm certain it wouldn't come to that point."  

  

 They reached her office, all glass walls, file cabinets and modern furniture, a smaller one next to Claire's closed one and dropped the bundles of paper on her desk.  

  

"I hope so too, but in behalf of her, thanks for that Owen."  

  

"Hey, we're a family here. That's what families do."  He smiled at her.  

  

"Speaking of families, I forgot to give you…" she leaned down and drew something from the compartment under her desk.  

  

She handed Owen a dainty white envelope with gold lace trimmings on the outline; a melted wax with the monogram A and Z sealed the flap of the envelope. "- your invitation. Are you bringing a plus one?"  

  

* * *

  

Claire arrived at the office a little later than her usual time in. Thanks to the bottle she finished last night, her head was now aching. She removed the sunglasses off of her eyes and walked towards the elevators. Artie greeted her, his usual low voice becoming a little too loud in her opinion. "Good morning Miss Dearing."   

  

"Morning Artie." Massaging the bridge of her nose as she pressed hard on the elevator button.   

  

" I would like to inform you that Owen just arrived. Zara told me to tell you in case you didn't check your phone.  

  

"He is?" She glanced back and true enough, saw his car. She looked up at Artie who had a cunning look on his face. "What?" Glaring at him unintentionally.  

  

"Nothing Miss Dearing. Have a good day." clearing his throat and proceeding to arrange the pencils on his small desk. Or pretending to.  

  

Upon reaching her door, she saw Zara stood up from behind her desk and cried out. "Owen's here. He told me to call him once you arrived."  

  

"He told you?" She asked, curious to know why her assistant was taking orders from Owen. "Where's Lowery?"   

  

"Lowery took the morning off, they just landed like two hours ago but he said he's gonna be here sometime after 10. I am to be Owen's assistant till the nerd comes back."   

  

"Okay. I'll just check my messages then I'll come by his office. In the meantime, can you get me a latte and the pancakes down the street?"  

  

"Huh?"  

  

"Actually, make that two orders of pancakes, and an extra black coffee, with 1 teaspoon of milk and no sugar," Claire added, remembering how he liked his coffee. She hung her blazer on the couch to avoid her assistant's inquisitive look.  

  

"Pancakes? Black coffee? But you never liked- oh! Oh! " Zara said with cheerful liveliness. "I'll be back in a jiffy!"  

  

She went to check on her emails, already sorted out by their importance by her assistant. She muttered a quick "Thank you Zara." before going over by them one by one. A number of them were from newspaper journalists demanding her opinion of the recent findings in Mills' case but most consisted of the usual business threads. She didn't notice the time. Not until Zara went back, and in her hands were her meal. The aroma making her head spin.  

  

"I already told Owen you're here. Shall I call him to go to you instead?" her assistant laid down her breakfast on the coffee table, Claire shook her head.  

  

"It's fine. I'll go to him. I'm just sending this email. Thank you, Zara."   

  

"You're welcome. I'll be in the office when you need me." Zara chuffed excitedly, her eyes shining in evident amusement before walking off.     

  

She waited until Zara closed the door before she stood up and grabbed the bags but not before passing her reflection on the decorative mirror. She emplaced the bags on the nearest surface to tuck her wavy hair behind her ears and un-crease the folds on her orange dress.  

  

His office stood on the other end of the hall from hers, making them the only two office spaces with the 360 view of the city. The large board meeting room dividing their walls. From a few paces away, she heard a loud resounding blow, kind of like someone throwing a desk on the opposite wall. And another one, and another one. The employees walking with her turned their heads on the commotion coming from the end hall where his office was- but never stopped to eavesdrop.  

   

She stopped the passing woman who works in the Human Resources, "Vivian, call someone from security." The woman nodded and jogged to the reception desk out front as Claire knocked loudly on the wooden door similar to hers in a futile attempt. "Mr. Grady? Owen? Owen!" she half-shouted with panic in her voice, garnering the attention the employees in the room before she finally decided to throw the door open.  

  

The books on the shelves were on the floor as were some of the potted plants that décor his office; the chairs overturned and the floor lamp beside it, the papers, pens, and bottles of ink scattered on the carpet below his desk like someone just wept his office table clean; Jackets and a striped tie were strewn on the floor. But what struck her the most were the people on the floor.  

  

Claire couldn't see their faces. But she knew who it was. The situation seemed to have reddened her rather colorless cheeks; Owen’s self-satisfied laugh echoed as he simultaneously said "Fuck me." just as she opened the door.  

  

From her view on the door, the woman had her hair in a high ponytail today; her body was above his opiate place on the floor. Her thighs on either side of his head, a rather provocative position she only saw in the Kama Sutra book her sister gave her as a Christmas joke while his rough hands that Claire tried not to think too much were gripping her waist.  

  

They both turned their heads towards her. Claire instantly locking with his, her eyebrows raised in an all-knowing fashion, her face a total look of stony disapproval.   

  

"Oh, good morning Claire!" Christianne greeted like nothing was happening, leaning slightly on her left so she could look at her.   

  

Owen wriggled out of Christianne's thighs, his hair standing up in all directions, his face beet red like he had finished a rigorous exercise.   

  

"Claire, I-"  

  

"Mr. Grady, Ms. Christianne, I apologize but I knocked. I'll come by sometime later." She interjected, managing to sound placid and unabashed, one hand on the doorknob, the other keeping the bag of breakfast firmly hidden behind her back.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I MISSED YOU. I AM SORRY. I can't believe February is over already! I had to go over a lot of personal issues for the past few weeks which meant less writing time. So, if ever this chapter is trash, I apologize. I kept re-reading this everyday to make it readable and un-cringe worthy. Haha. And a shout-out to the ever-amazing Elise-Collier for checking up on me! Thank you.
> 
> You, my readers, are the best and I love you all. And I would also like to announce that I already started on Chapter 7 so you won't wait that long. Please leave a review, a like or a critique. As a writer, it would really help us out to know what you think and to keep us motivated in writing the next chapters. :)


	7. Submission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of italics, please bear with me. Here's a 15-page chapter for you. Also I recommend (if you're using your phone) reading in Reader View. :)

 

 **Last Chapter’s preview...**  

   

The “They-Must-Be-Cousins” theory was definitely crossed off the list. Crossed off, shaded heavily, strike through repeatedly and scribbled off the paper leaving an angry, black hole. She was not his cousin. Definitely not his cousin. Claire tried to get the memory off her mind but in doing so, reminded her that it was taking its precious time to bother her.     

    

Claire prided herself as someone who was far from the norm of emotional, dependent women who doesn’t need to get herself out there to feel appreciated, or as a woman who needed something or someone to feel alive. But now, she felt stupid. Stupid and ashamed when her mind automatically replayed the fateful night, he spent with him and how, against her better judgment, didn’t actually hated it. Nevertheless, she should have known, with his ruggedly handsome looks and appealing demeanor, that he's involved in a relationship. Typical of acts of men. What useless, boneheaded devils, Claire felt white-hot rage fuel her blood. She gripped the bag of breakfast in one hand, ready to throw it on the nearest trash can or his face if she saw him in the next minutes.    

    

Zara’s excited smile fell when she saw her stomp back to her office. “What happened?” Her aggression shown on her face, she took a step back, struggling a little to regain her professional composure.     

    

“What time will the Chinese be here?”     

    

“Noon,” Zara answered instantly without even looking at her calendar.   

    

“Okay, don’t let anyone in my office until then.”     

    

“Absolutely.” Zara nodded like the perfect and reliable assistant she was.    

  

* * *

    

**SUBMISSION**

# “There is no better way to know us  
Than as two wolves, come separately to a wood.”- Ted Hughes

* * *

 

   

Nothing beats the feeling of being in the ocean, he often told himself. As a nature lover, what Owen looked forward to (besides his job) was to see the sullen-bluish green color of the water, wide and almost boundless; the sea spray briny and thick with the smell of seaweed and fish and not to mention the scenery of the rising and setting sun as it kissed the horizon; a one hell of a view from there according to hearsay. When the time came for his very first deployment, he was over the moon, kind of like a little kid inside a magical toy kingdom. Complacent that he won’t be getting seasick for the first few weeks, he kept his medication at the bottommost part of his duffel bag, under his bunk bed, when strictly it should have been with him as commanded.  Come what may, he learned his lesson on the fourth day when he sped towards and over the railing to barf his guts out; the taste and feeling being worse than his biggest hang-over. He thought, with great certainty, that nothing would and could ever top the worst first days at sea.    

    

That was until he saw Claire standing by the door and looking at him, them, tangled in a tactical wrestling position, her face a countenance between discomfort, regret, and anger; Her eyebrows scrunched together, lips in a pursed red line and her eyes, hot damn, her eyes were fierce and ready-to-kill. And yet he must be out of his mind to still think of her beautiful after the embarrassing episode he had put her through.     

    

Owen pushed the woman off him and walked to her in three easy steps, his explanation on the tip of his tongue when she spoke and apologized for interrupting them. Claire exited before he could say another word, the door automatically shutting behind her.     

  

    

He looked back at his friend who had an amused expression on her Chicana features. He glared at her with such spite that he was starting to regret calling her for help a month ago…    

    

 

 _Both hot-blooded adults were left paralyzed on their spots when they heard loud knocks from the door._  

 

 _I’m sorry for not coming as soon as I can.” The woman’s voice continued and Claire sprung away from him._  

 

 _Owen cursed, recognizing the voice of the notorious woman behind the door. “Fuck.”_  

 

 _Rubbing the back of his face in aggravation, he walked towards the door and let his guest in._  

 

 _“Were you becoming deaf or something?” his guest joked, immediately shoving her coat and bag in Owen’s arms upon her entry._  

 

 _“Nice to see you too.” Owen snuffed, dropping her things on the couch near the door._  

 

 _He felt her gaze instantly falling on Claire’s from his kitchen counter. She turned to him and gave him a wink at the corner of her eye._  

 

 _“Claire, this is Christianne. Christianne, Claire.”_  

 

 _“Christianne? Really? Who are you? my grandma?”  she spat before beaming at Claire and extending her hand for her to shake. “Hi, Claire!”_  

 

 _“Not at all._ _”_ _extending her hand over the counter, “I’m Claire Dearing._ _I’m sorry for-“_  

 

 _“Oh no, no, don’t apologize for anything. You have no idea the worst things I’ve caught Owen doing.” Christianneelbowing him on his side. He rolled his eyes and moved past her, next to Claire’s to grab a new mug from the cupboard._  

 

 _“I called but the phones were down. I just got hold of my uncle a while ago. They live near the_ _by-road.”_  

 

 _“I see._ _I hope they are all right...I’ll wash.” she insisted in a soft voice when he tried to pry her fingers away from her empty cup._  

 

 _“I got it._ _My house, my dishes,” he muttered so only she could hear._  

 

 _-Yes... they were.”  He took a quick glance at his friend whose eyes were shining with mischief. He glared at her once more._  

 

 _“I was actually planning to head there first, but I just couldn’t wait to see my pal_ _here.”_ _Owen_ _reached_ _his hand across the counter to hand_ _his friend a_ _cup before he turned around_ _again_ _to finish the dishes._  

 

 _Fucking Miss Christianne._  

 

 _“By the way, the silver Mercedes on the road, by that fallen tree, that’s yours, right?”_ _She_ _finally sat on the bar stool across from them._  

 

 _“_ _Um, yeah._ _Is it ok?”_  

 

 _“Besides the mud covering the mags, Should be fine. A few folks were moving the tree when I was on my way here.”_  

 

 _Switching the faucet off and drying his hands, Owen leaned on the counter and stayed silent on the ordeal. He contemplated her things on the couch, the black coat looked new but the brown canvas military rucksack had seen better days. And from Owen’s experience, the contents of that bag were not always a good thing._  

 

 _“That’s good to know... Well, it looks like you two have something to talk about. So, I’ll just be... I’ll just get my things and I’ll_ _walk back to my car.”_  

 

 _“Your clothes are still in the laundry.” Owen wished they couldn’t hear the appeal in his voice._ _He didn’t_ _want her to leave just yet._  

 

 _“It’s ok. You guys talk. Can I borrow your phone charger?”_  

 

 _“Sure, it’s on the nightstand.” She gave him a small smile. Owen felt his own lips imitating hers._  

 

 _They watched her leave, waited for the bedroom door to close before_ _his other guest_ _got up and punched him in the arm, chuckling._  

 

 _“Ow! What the fuck! What was that for?”  He hissed, rubbing his exposed bicep._  

 

 _“Owen Fucking Grady’s got a fucking girlfriend. Finally! Never thought I’d live to this day.”_ _she teased, keeping her voice low._  

 

 _“She’s not my girlfriend.”_  

 

 _“_ _Hmm_ _._ _Let’s see…” her eyes traveled from his head to his feet slowly, her method of a once over.  “If I'm honest with myself, I’ll say you like this woman.” winking at him through the rim of her cup before tipping it at him._  

   
 

 

 _“Don’t use your weird mind-reading shit on me.”_  

 

 _She scoffed, taking another sip of her coffee._  

 _“_ _It’s not mind-reading, it’s basic Psychological Science. Seriously, how old are you? 5?”_  

 

 _“Did Mario and Nerissa made it to the shelter okay?”_  

 

 _“Yes,_ _Tiya_ _told me don’t you worry about them.”_  

 

 _“That’s goo- why are you looking at me like that? Cut it out.”_  

 

 _“_ _Out_ _of breath, red cheeks, rigid posture, dilated eyes when you’re talking to her, low but soft deep voice._ _.”_ _she winked at him._ _“Want me to_ _“evaluate” her_ _?” she continued with a sinister smile and waggled her eyebrows._  

 

 _“I already did. I mean no, not directly. Franklin did it for me. “_  

 

 _“And?”_  

   
 

 _“She’s clear, which was not a surprise to me. Owen avowed without a trace of doubt, pouring her another cup before preparing his own. I studied human behavior as well, in case you’ve forgotten.”_  

 

 _“Not as good as me though.”_  

 

 _“Yeah, whatever... Christianne.”_  

 

 _Before Owen could get out of her way, she stood up on the supporting legs of her stool and punch him._  

 

 _“Why do you always hit me?” he whined, taking a step back away from her._  

 

 _“Call me Christianne one more time, I’ll tackle you to the ground. And we both know who always wins.” she threatened amiably, taking a bite of the apple she stole in his fruit stand._  

 

 _“That’s because I never hit a woman.”_  

 

 _“Quit your whining.”_ _she pushed_ _cup away_ _before_ _adding excitedly, “So, how do we do this?”_ _She rubbed_ _her hands together like some villain (which she really was moments ago) plotting her next evil schemes._  

 

 _“For a doctor, you’re extremely violent.”  he accused under his breath._    

    

The sound of a ringing phone and distant laughter and his companion calling out his name from behind him brought him back to the present.  

   
 

“I said, have you eaten your breakfast yet?” the woman asked, unmistakable humor transparent in her voice.    

      

The randomness of her question made him pause from re-arranging the books on his shelf.  He turned towards her. “What? No. Not yet. Why?”    

    

“You should eat. Or at least drink coffee. It helps with anxiety,” she smirked, grabbing her blazer from the upturned chair on their right.    

    

“I’m not anxious.”    

    

“I’ll ask someone to bring you one. And please, we’ve been through this, I evaluate people’s minds and body language for a living, there’s no point in lying to me,”   

   

“You’re the worst.”     

    

“Can I just tell you that I cannot even begin how happy I am seeing you so…like this for a woman! This is amazing.” She chastened, putting her jacket on and covering the naval and ocean wave marks on her skin which she got during her time in the navy with him. Owen had strongly advised against hiding them when she comes “to work at his building” said it was her battle scars in a way. But she argued, saying she didn’t want others to get the notion that she and Owen worked together which, of course, will raise many questions on what her job was beforehand, jeopardizing her secretive profiling on Owen’s employees.   

    

“I hate you.” he glowered at her once more, arranging his tie before aligning the seats neat and upright in their earlierpositions.     

    

She laughed and patted him in the shoulder. “Time to make your move, beefcake. Now go, get your woman.”    

    

**********    

    

He didn’t get to talk to Claire because men in business suits had arrived a little too early for their lunch appointment. Not that he was bothered by what she thought of him anyway. He said to himself.  

 

The executive staff was attending with him along with Lowery who just arrived. It was the typical meeting with him cracking jokes every now and then to lighten the funereal-ness of it all. Owen never did like long meetings, the accounting and statistics bored the hell out of him.  But what always made it worth his while was having an excuse to look at Claire, solidly within her element, passive and substantial that Owen always caught himself staring long after she stopped talking. 

    

   
 

“There’s an awesome barbecue restaurant near here. How about we treat you gentlemen for some certified Californian cuisine today?” Owen heard Antonio, their Chief Finance officer, exclaimed beside him.     

    

“Excellent idea. You guys are not in a rush or anything, are ya?” Owen addressed the group of people in front of him.     

    

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. We don’t want to disturb you of your daily schedule.” the one named Mr. Fujidenzo with the jet-black hair and friendly eyes replied timidly.    

    

“Nah. Of course not. Besides, we haven’t eaten lunch yet.”    

    

“Oh definitely! You’ve never been to California downtown if you haven’t tried that!” Lowery chimed in, already packing his things on the table.    

    

“If you insist. We would love that. Thank you, Owen.”     

    

“All right, let’s do it.” he stood up and the rest of the table followed. They walked towards the door and Owen held it open for everyone before noticing Claire still sitting on her designated chair and taking her time to cram the meeting’s papers inside the folder.     

    

“Miss Dearing, are you coming?” one of the men asked for him.    

    

“Actually, gentleman, you go ahead. I still have lots of catch up to do.”  she smiled at the man.   

    

By the time everyone was out of the room, Owen lagged behind, waiting for her.     

    

“You can leave the door, Mr. Grady,” Claire muttered monotonously, her back to him.    

    

“And lose the opportunity to act like a gentleman? No way.” he chuckled somewhat cautiously, “Listen, earlier this morning, at my office-”    

    

“Mr. Grady, you don’t have to apologize for anything.” she simpered, now looking directly at him with her impatient, deep-set green eyes.    

    

What he really wanted to say was, I'm sorry you saw that. But nothing happened, nothing was happening. Well, except my ass getting beaten up. But instead,  

   
 

“Who said anything about apologizing?”   

   

“Well, aren’t you?”      

    

Yes. “No.”    

    

“Okay. Then, we have no problem.” she stood a few steps away from and gawked at him with intolerance, one he had witnessed and been on its receiving end more times than he could count.    

    

“Why? Were you jealous?” crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning his body sideways on the door, and blocking her exit.     

    

“I have not gotten that low yet.” Claire looked somewhere past his shoulder “Will you move out of my way?”     

    

“Have lunch with me... with us. With us.”    

    

“I bet you can dazzle them with your charm yourself. I’ve had enough of it already, luckily.” she taunted back at him perching the folder on her hips.     , still frowning at him. 

   

“It’s so nice to hear you’ve been charmed by me. Thank you.” he awed, placing both his hands on his chest.    

    

“That was sarcasm.”    

    

“Come on Claire. Even my VP needs a break.”  He teased her, making no move to lean away from the door.  

    

“Wow, you just persuaded me.”  

   
 

“That a yes milady?” Owen raised an eyebrow at her, his lips shaping that one-sided smirk.   

   
 

“Get out of my way or I’ll poke your foot with my heel, Mr. Grady.” She said lazily with a forced smile.  

    

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

    

If there was someone she could really rely on, it would be her (sometimes evil) sister, Karen who lives in Wisconsin with her two sons and Zara Young, her assistant ever since she got promoted.   

   

Zara was a year younger than her and Claire could never have a more perfect assistant who does not only do her job fantastically well but also knows her as a person, not just as the company dictator. And if there was anything, she could do for her to return the favor, she would gladly do so. And that was the reason she was canceling and exchanging her Friday night to attend her secretary’s bachelorette dinner at a popular lady's bar in the city.      

    

“One order of Daiquiri please.” she sat the bar stool at the far end of the room and watched Zara sitting on the improvised throne on their rented space surrounded by her bridesmaids. A few of them Claire could recognize from work and some, she couldn’t with their strong accents and posh outfits.    

   

Zara was working at the top of her game in the United Kingdom for some Real Estate firm before she decided to move here with her then-boyfriend (and now fiancé) Alec when he  here. It wasn’t the first time Claire wondered how could someone leave the life they’ve known, their work and families for what? for love? Claire was happy for her friend she really was and wouldn’t have the nerve to complain because it brought Zara here. Yet she could not digest the idea of why and how someone chooses something that could be temporary over a lifetime of achievement. It was just too much of a risk she could not imagine herself doing. But that was just her.  

   
 

“They said marriage changes people for the better, do you believe that?”    

    

It took a few more seconds for her eyes to adjust and recognize the woman who leaned her elbows on the space next to her drink. Without her usual padded shoulder blazers, her arms were showing. Her right arm wreathed with tattoos of what looked like billows of the ocean and a naval anchor on the rounded part of her shoulder. She also cut her hair short, ending just below her jaw. She looked like a different person.  If it wasn’t for the dark and heavy eye make-up, she wouldn’t recognize her.    

    

“Christianne?”    

    

She mumbled something under her breath and Claire only got the words “Kill him” and “calling me that.” above the loud and sudden shrieks of the women around them.    

   

”I didn’t recognize you. You look great!” she complimented sincerely and watched her as she ordered her drink and sat beside the empty chair on her right.   

   

“Thank you. So, what do you think?”     

   

“About what?”   

   

Christianne tipped her chin towards the group of hyper, screaming women. “Marriage.”   

   

“Oh. Um.” The three people who should have been her role models on how to love were forever traumatized by severe experiences of what they thought was their happily ever after and that made a huge alteration on some of her views in life. “I don’t know.“ Claire took a deep breath before saying the next words, “My dad left our mom when I was in high school and my elder sister got divorced, so I don’t have a lot of references to look up to.”   

    

 “I’m sorry to hear that.”   

   

“It’s quite all right.” She assured her. Christianne called for the bartender to order them another round.    

   

“So, you don’t believe in marriage?”    

   

She shrugged, taking another Daiquiri off the tray. “I didn’t picture the rest of my life being told of what and what not to do.”    

   

Christianne’s mouth curved into a whimsical grin, like she was fighting to keep secret she was on the verge of telling. “You sounded like a close friend.”   

   

“Ah, let me guess, she’s not too keen to hold a relationship either?”    

   

“Yeah. He is.”   

   
 

“Well, in that case, to lone wolves,” she said in jest, clinking their glasses together.    

   
 

“Which reminded me”, Christianne angled her body towards her seat so she was facing Claire. “I never got to explain for this morning, when you saw me with Owen.”   

   

“Oh no, I shouldn’t have interfered with what’s been going on with you two ever since. I’m extremely sorry, I didn’t know and I feel humiliated and awful.”    

   

“Wait, you think-” before she could even finish her sentence, her face lit up, slapped the table and held on to Claire’s shoulder as she doubled over with mirth.   

   

Claire felt her eyebrows drew together in one embarrassed frown. “Was it something I said?”   

   

“Oh man. You’re funny!” she said breathlessly when she calmed down. “I mean he really is good-looking, Square jaw, good bone structure, tall, muscles. I don’t date men but if I do, it would be him. It would gross me out because we were childhood buddies, but I think I could do it.”    

   

Oh. She tried to hide her relief and surprise and manipulated her voice to sound monotonous and formal, “You grew up with Owen?”    

   

“Yeah, we used to run around the farm every summer when they visit. My mom’s sister and her husband take care of the farmhouse whenever Owen’s away.”   

   

“I didn’t know that.”   

   

“He’s a great guy, lots of issues but really great. Never seen him so riled up with a woman.”    

   

“Well, he is infuriating.” she screwed her face in a grimace.   

   

“Funny, he said the same thing about you.” Christianne’s approving smile gave Claire the impression that the idea, even just a small concept, of her and Owen, was something she should welcome and explore. And honestly, it was starting to make her uneasy. Claire let her mind dwell on other details like how her current drinking buddy has a different way in opening communication that doesn’t feel forced and uncomfortable, it made Claire receptive and open on what else she has to say.  

   

“I never knew why we only talked just now. You’re easy to talk to.” Claire uttered, smiling at her.    

   

“If you stopped avoiding me, we could have had this conversation weeks ago.” she speculated correctly, in between last guzzles of the yellow liquid.   

   

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Claire chuckled before looking back at the posse of women who did not even notice them gone. “Thank you for keeping me company, Christianne.”   

   

“Oh, my pleasure but please don’t call me that. Owen likes to remind me that I had a hard time saying my Ts when I was a kid. Call me Zia.”    

   

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   

For a person who hated the idea of large formal gatherings, Owen found the wedding ceremony beautiful.   

   

The Young-Allerton nuptial had been administered in a remote location away from the crowded and busy city of California. The event, not attended by more than a hundred fifty guests in their black-tie attire, imparted a sort of distraction from the fast-lane lives of the guests whom all live in the city.     

   

One would think that glowing happiness of the bride and groom in the 11th century-old Victorian Glass Conservatory sitting in 300 acres of grounds, surrounded by an astonishing view of well-built outdoor pagodas, ancient forestry and flower gardens, or the sun setting behind the blue mountain spilling a grand combination of bluish-orange light all over the land would be enough to hold everyone’s attention.    

   

But not his.   

Yes, the black strapless velvet dress she was donning for the reception was alluring and hair in a low messy bun like a golden halo with the strands framing her face, yes she was a head turner. But the air of light-heartedness and practical bliss strongly etched on her otherwise normal and cold disposition were what drawn him the most. She was sociable, more than usual, and looked carefree. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.  

      

“What do you think will happen if you just keep staring at her?”   

   

Owen peered over his shoulder and caught Lowery leaning over the open bar with a childlike grin up at him and raised eyebrows. “I wasn’t staring.” he turned around on his seat and faced him with an annoyed scowl.    

   

“You’re right, gawking was the right word. You better make your move though boss, because there are other tough guys here too. Hey Z! Love the hair.”  

   
 

“What’d I miss children?”  

   

Owen turned back around and saw Christianne prepped up in a blue long-sleeved cocktail ensemble, a tall glass of beer in one hand and the other holding a black sequined purse: so unlike of her.   

   

“ Owen’s insecurity.” His assistant answered smugly to which Owen poorly contradicted with a weak reply.    

   

“You could practically have the whole room begging for you yet you chose the hardest one to tame,” Lowery added.  

   
 

“Leave him be, Cruthers.”  

   

Zia greeted Lowery with a fist bump before the woman went and sat in between him and his assistant, leaning their elbows on the elevated island, overlooking the array of colorful dresses and tuxedos on the dance floor.   

   

“For example, the blonde haired one, Zara’s cousin is looking at you all day. I would know because she’s the hottest girl in the room.”    

   
 

Owen took a quick glance from behind his back and noticed the woman who just averted her eyes away from him. He shrugged at Lowery and took a swig from his beer.   

   
 

“Why are didn’t you attend the ceremony?” Lowery asked Zia.  

   
 

“I had to meet another intel of mine on some employee background checks.”  

   
 

“Oh, you still haven’t found the ‘spy’?” his assistant’s giddiness about the idea evident in his voice.  

   

Unlike the rest of his employees, Lowery was the only one who knew about her part at Grady Corp. Owen’s distrust of the people around him was another reason he also called another friend to help with his own private investigation.    

   
 

“Spy? God, what is with men and their childish fantasies.”  the woman beside him exasperated, probably rolling her eyes at Lowery.  

   

“Any luck Zia? I haven’t talked to either Franklin or Barry yet.” Owen finally voiced out his own worry.  

   

“Results come out maybe tomorrow. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”   

   

“Dudes, ok enough. We’re at a party. Stop thinking about work.” Lowery crouched down as he began his gossip. “Now, have you heard about the guy from Finance that got sassy with Claire?” 

   

The three engaged in the amiable chat between bottles of beer, the revel around them not dissuading for a moment as the moonless night finally sunk in. Lowery was on the middle of telling his seventh joke when something or someone bumped his back, pouring cold, sticky liquid inside his neck and to the insides of his dress shirt. “Son of a-” He stood up turning around to face his assailant.   

   

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I lost my balance. I didn’t mean to!”     

   

The blonde woman in the purple dress whom Lowery was talking about earlier giggled embarrassingly, batting her fake eyelashes up at the three of them. Lowery quickly gave him the table napkin before introducing himself, slightly pushing a very vexed Owen out-of-the-way. “Oh, he doesn’t mind... Lowery.”    

   

Owen glared at him.    

   

The woman didn’t shake Lowery's extended hand but rather focused on Owen, biting her lip. “I’m really sorry, I wasn’t supposed to spill it. Can I buy you a drink instead?”   

   

Coming over to introduce herself was one okay thing but to do it on purpose in the most inconvenient, immature way possible? Not the best way to gain nor hold his attention. Still, he offered a polite smile to the woman. “Why don’t you take my seat and I’ll be right back.” He pulled away from the group, took his jacket and excused himself to the restroom.    

   

He made his way between a gallery of Renaissance paintings down the corridor connecting the ballroom and the other side of the building. At the center between the male’s and the female’s restrooms was a Victorian parlor area with modular vintage furniture and an elegant chandelier above it.   

   

Owen stripped his wet shirt and hung it between the jet hand dryer to dry. He was wiping the remaining viscidness of the fruity drink down his shoulders and back when he heard voices from outside the hall. Owen was not always one to eavesdrop but with nothing else to do in the empty and silent stalls, his ears decided to against his will.    

   

The disembodied voices resonated on the granite walls; their voices became clearer as it drew closer to the wall where he was at, he leaned his body against it until he was now sure that it was a couple. The woman sounded irritated by something the man had replied.   

   

“Can I drive you home tonight?” the man’s deep voice sounded desperate.   

   

“I have a room here.”   

   

“Well, can I walk you to your room?”   

   

Poor guy. Owen thought, letting the water ran at the spot on his shirt to remove what smelt like a Pina Colada cocktail.   

   

“What’s your name again?”  

   
 

 

“Glen.”  

   
 

“Okay Glen, let’s make this easy for you ok. I don’t know what gave you the impression that I’m interested for you to stalk me all the way here. I’m supposed to say I’m flattered but I’m not.  

   

Atta girl.  

   

“Playing hard to get? I know you didn’t come with someone; I’ve been watching you all night.”   

   

And that is where you really lost your chance, buddy. A creepy move, really creepy.   

   

“Are you so sure of that? Now, if you please move away, Sir.”    

   
 

He removed his hand away from the dryer so he could clearly hear. There’s only one person within the vicinity that he’s a hundred percent sure would call someone Sir even if that someone was being a nuisance and an asshole. He took a peek outside and unmistakably saw a very disgruntled Claire holding her purse under her armpit and in front of her was a guy in a pale blue suit.   

   

A devilish idea came to him and without really planning it, he barged out the door and pretended to be upset over the damp white dress shirt on his hands. “Honey, do you think this stain would- Oh hello.” Owen stopped walking and met the man’s horrified eyes. He simpered and extended his hand, I’m Owen.”    

   

The man who looked like a cartoon character stammered his name out and shakily shook Owen’s hand. Owen glanced at Claire, whose eyes shone with rare and challenging playfulness. Encouraged, he padded over, pulled her by the waist and pecked her on the lips, so chaste he thought he imagined it. “Hi, baby.”   

   

Something crossed her eyes and she stunned him when she circled her arms around his bare shoulders, making him stumble a little when she pulled him down her height. “What took you so long, teddy bear?”    

   

He smiled, pressing his cheeks against her in the annoying way couples do. They turned to the man again, obviously more embarrassed now with his big dark eyes. Owen swore he could see slight perspiration dripping down the man’s face.  “I have to apologize for my state of dress, she’s used to seeing me naked, but you’re not. Are you babe?” He stood up straighter and pulled Claire closer to his side, quite amazed when she played along by resting her left hand on his chest, a cunning smile on her perfect face.    

   

With that, the man left, mumbling incoherent words as he backed up the hallway. When his figure disappeared, Owen released Claire, sidestepped away from her to shake his shirt to air it out.    

   

“Do you always use your body to intimidate your species?”   

   

“My species?” He swiveled and caught her cheeky smirk. “Now, don’t pretend you didn’t like that.”   

   

“I want to ask why you’re half-naked, but I remembered that I don’t care.”   

   

“I always feel so happy with your lack of concern for my body.“  he joked, deliberately flexing his muscles.  

   

“Ok fine, what’s the story?” she breathed, nestling herself on one of the cushions.   

   

“Apparently, some chic thought it was sexy to introduce herself by spilling her drink on me.” He replied, finally slipping his shirt on.   

   

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be you.”   

   

He let out a chortle at her sarcasm and walked to the nearest mirror to put and fix his bow tie when he heard her get up and say, “So uh, thanks anyway, I’m heading back.”    

   

He regarded her again, his eyes running on her figure. “What do you think Spongebob would say if he saw you alone again?” That halted her upcoming steps. “Besides, I actually need that favor back.”  smirking at her through the mirror.   

   

She smacked and pursed her cupid-bow shaped lips at him, maybe contemplating the offer he thought and he smiled again when she said, “Just this once, Grady.”   

 

* * *

 

 Being within each other’s proximity for the last hour had fended off unwanted attention from both sexes ogling them in the room. Just as what he had intended. Not that he was aware of the salacious glances thrown his way by most of Zara’s entourage (it was Claire who pointed it out many times throughout the night). Owen would be all right with just sitting with her but she was touching him, raking her hands through his hair and whispering things on his ear that during few moments during the night, he forgot they were just all for the show.   

 

 

“Another please!” She clamored at the bartender serving an old couple at the other end of the bar. The young man looked at Owen, silently asking for permission if he should indulge the fuddled and flushed woman sitting beside him.   

   

“And here I thought you hated tequila.” Owen chuckled and nodded at the lad, holding up two fingers. “I lost count. How many have you drink, Claire?”   

    

She wiped her mouth with the piece of cloth laid in front of her and gave him a beguiling smile. He’s got to give it to her that even at a drunken state, she remained a prim woman. There wasn’t any unwanted attention around them now but he seeing her sway a little drink after drink, Owen sat closer to her as a regard now for her safety, his hand guarding behind her seat in case she leaned back and lose her balance. Again.   

 

The party had ended half past 1 am with only the catering staff folding the table cloths and a few remaining guests dawdling on the tables, too drunk to continue. Lowery and Zia already left to their separate hotel rooms at the nearby establishment, where he had also booked a room.    

   
 

Surprisingly, they were getting along, no sarcasm and argumentative remarks, so far. It was nice to know that they could be... congenial with each other. The arguments were exciting, no doubt about that, but this is so much better. They talked about the farm, the places they have been for work, his days in the navy and the time when Grady Corp didn’t have an Owen Grady yet. He found himself hanging on to her every word.   

   

 “It’s good to know that you’re so opposed to orders even back then.” she wrinkled her nose before biting the lime wedge from her drink.   

   

"Hey, you’ve no idea how an ass my old commander was.”  There wasn’t any unwanted attention around them now but he seeing her sway a little drink after drink, Owen hovered closer as regard now for her safety.  

   
 

“Good thing you weren’t kicked out.”   

   

“No. But I had to mop the entire ship.” Owen chuckled at the memory and they watched as the barista pour their drink on two small crystal glasses. Claire rested her head on her folded arms. Owen hesitated again, studying her for a minute, considering if it was a wise decision to give her another when she’s clearly drunk as a lord.   

   
 

“Why don’t you let me take this one?” She raised her head at that, beaming at him in her semi-drunken nature. Good thing he has a high tolerance for alcohol or they would end up on a ditch somewhere. Or a bed.   

   

“And here I thought we’re having such a great ‘ol time. Don’t ruin it!” she reached for it but Owen moved his hand away. “Give it to me! I can handle it!”   

   

He gave in, not wanting her to fall on her face squirming for her drink.  “Fine, woman! This is the last one okay?” She nodded with closed eyes, her body staggering a little.   

   

“Cheers, Claire.”    

   

“Bottoms up.”   

   

The empty glasses banged on the counter with a clank. Owen finally removed the loose bow tie on his neck and tucked it inside his jacket hanging on the back of his seat. When he looked up, Claire was staring at him. Her eyes glistening with something he couldn’t name.    

   

“What?”   

   

“Nothing, nothing. Anyway, I better go. Thanks for the uh- you know” she waved her hand at him.   

   

She made a move to stand up but Owen was ready. He caught her just in time her knees hit the floor. “Whoa, easy there, tiger.” Owen pulled her waist towards him as she chuckled, holding on to his forearms in a hard grip. He found himself staring back at her and he smiled.   

   

“Has anyone told you, you have expressive eyes?” Claire whispered, her jade-colored eyes held his with such seriousness and honesty.   

   

Owen lit up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree. Everything around him blurred and she was the only one in focus.   

   

“Don’t go falling for me now, Claire.” He smirked, his eyes memorizing her beautiful face.   

   

“Never.”    

   

Then she closed her eyes, humming as she leaned in closer and kissed him.     

   
 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheesy? Cliche? Should I write another M-rated chapter? *bites nails* Tell me what you think! ;) 
> 
> And please if you can recommend a Tumblr blog where I can submit this story, please do so. This may sound vain, but I need the encouragement. I'm trying to not lose my mojo in writing this. :)


	8. The True Meaning of an Alpha Male

 

 

 

 

  


 

* * *

**The True Meaning of an Alpha Male**

** Male alpha wolves don’t gain their status through aggression and the dominance of other males, but because the other wolves in the pack are his mate and kiddos. And like any good family man, a male alpha wolf protects his family and treats them with kindness, generosity, and love. **

-www.artofmanlinessdotcom/articles/how-to-really-be-alpha-like-the-wolf/

* * *

 

 

Something was leaning heavily on her head and whatever it was, it needed to move.       

Claire swatted her hand around to push it off but only came contact with nothing but air. She grumbled, a sound between annoyance and pain as she pried one groggy eye open.      

The French balcony door was ajar, allowing a soft breeze to blow the drapes that poured a warmer glow about the room.  The chirpy greetings of the birds perched on their branches (which swayed with the wind), the rumbling engine of a lawn mower and the distant murmurs of conversations hung in the air. All of these tiny noises comforted the pounding sensation in her head.  

Claire slowly twisted her body to lie on her back. She stared blankly up the ceiling for a few minutes, not particularly enjoying the exhaustion ingrained in every fiber of her being; her head was about to explode any second and her mouth incomparably dry as a dessert. In addition to that, a strange sensation in her throat as if she swallowed a whole watermelon.  

She made it back to her room, after all. Claire managed a small, proud smile. It was the first night she allowed herself to drink more than she ever had in her entire adult life and she won't be lying that it felt liberating. Her sister would be proud. More so, now that she knew she can trust herself not to do anything stupid. Inebriated or not.   

Something on the nightstand caught the light, making her squint her extra-sensitive eyes. She turned her head and thanked the heavens that a tall glass of water was resting on the hardwood. The woman sat up to drink. The glass was still cold and sweaty as if someone just poured it. She finished the sweet liquid, lie on her back again and continued to revel in the worst headache she was experiencing, thus far.   

The painted decor on the Victorian ceiling was starting to zoom out of focus when she heard it: a mummed, buzzing noise. _Maybe it was just the mower,_ she thought sleepily. The buzzing hum insisted for the next three minutes or so before she heard the rush of running water.   

 _For an elitist event venue and four-star hotel accommodation, they sure have thin walls,_ she assumed with disappointment. With closed eyes, Claire extended an arm on the wall behind the lampshade as if to test her theory. She didn't know anything about construction planning but the numbing sensation she felt on her knuckles when she knocked on the walls unmistakably disapproved her presumption.  She ignored it. Until the sounds that followed made her eyebrows coiffed with confusion.  

 _“_ _Shadows grow so long before my eyes… and they’re moving across the pa-aage…”_  

What the hell?  

It took her half-fuddled mind to realize it was coming from somewhere _near_.  

 _“Oh, screw it!”_  

She sprung upright, the movement making her head spin. Claire quickly surveyed the room. Nothing was strange nor out of place. The open-plan layout of the studio didn't have a living area, making the the queen-sized canopy bed take up most of the room. Having said that, it only provided a modest space for kitchen, the closet and study table; the bathroom was behind the wall adjacent to her bed. Her purse and shoes on the kitchen counter.  

The voice continued singing, accompanied by a whoosh of water every few seconds and a tinkling sound of an object hitting ceramic.   

The phone, where her empty glass was, rang suddenly. She grabbed it. The frown deeply formed on her forehead when the screen read Zia Rodriguez- new message.  

Zia Rodriguez? Who the heck- Oh! Christianne! Zia! Claire didn't know Zia's last name until that moment nor remembered saving her name on her phone. Maybe Zara synced it for her. However, when she tried to open the thread, her password won't register. She swiped and cleared the notifications on her screen saver before it opened up to a portrait of a baby lamb standing tall on grass; its glazed black pupils staring up at her and the corner of its mouth quirking upwards.   

"I _wanna tell you I love your way,_ _everyd-ayyy_ _, ye-_ _eahh_ _, I wanna be with you night and da-ayyy.”_  

It's coming from the bathroom, alright.   

Claire maniacally scrambled around the bed for something to defend herself with when her phone rang again. She never thought she would be so relieved to see the sometimes-annoying man’s name on her caller ID.  

She hit the green phone icon.  The usual, panicky voice greeted her as they said simultaneously:  

"Owen! We found-"  

"Lowery! Help me!"  

She removed the phone from her ear and stared at it as if it was a liability.   

"Claire? Why do you have Owen’s phone?''  

And then it hit her.         

She had a few drinks with some of her staff and later on, as a favor to Owen. They spent the remainder of the night talking and drinking, trying to ward off unwanted female attention. When she felt a sick feeling on her stomach, she said goodbye and then... and then... that was it. The last thing she remembered was his lopsided smile and strong arms around her at the bar. All of it were blurred images after another. 

Did she return to her room with Owen?  

Filled with sudden dread, she clutched her stomach, arms, and thighs, feeling for an ache that might help her figure out what happened.  Green pupils widened when she realized that she was wearing the flimsy nightgown set she packed when she clearly could not recall changing into it herself.     

"-Are you still there? Claire?" Lowery's nervous tone faded and replaced by an amused pitch. She felt the heat rise up to her neck and for a second, she wanted to throw the phone over the balcony.    

"Yes. I'm here," she uttered in a low voice.     

"Good morning! Where's Owen?"      

"I… I don't know." She answered, mortified. Her eyes eventually focused on the bathroom door as the voice echoed pleasantly.    

"OK um. Tell him to call me as soon as he can? Wait, never mind, I'll call him later. But tell him it's important. Like really important. Zia just informed me about it. It's funny cause we were just talking about it. I don't want to ruin his weekend though, oh shit no. Maybe I shouldn't tell him yet." He rambled in the way only Lowery can.       

"Lowery?"  Claire interrupted, pinching the sides of her nose to soothe her throbbing headache.    

"Yes?"      

"Stop talking. I'll tell him when I see him okay?"  

"OK. Sorry. See you, Claire. You guys enjoy your weekend."   

As soon as she hung up the phone, the bathroom door creaked open. The shower steam was engulfing its former occupant as he closed it.  

Beads of water droplets rested on his exposed chest, the few hairs on it matted with moisture. His torso covered in the red hotel towel and a smaller one around his neck, which he was using to dry his hair.   

Did she gasp out loud out of the horror that confirmed her suspicions? Or something else? Her heart was in her throat as her eyes voluntarily followed every muscle.  

The song on his lips froze when he looked up and smiled at her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "You're up."       

Claire grabbed the sheets to cover herself, the satin mini dress felt thinner as he continued walking to the end of the bed.  

"Feeling better?" he rested one hand on the knot of his towel on his waist. Claire redirected and focused wide, green eyes on his clean-shaven face. She had never seen him without his five o'clock shadow. The ruggedness (that captured the attention of many females) temporarily gone and reintroduced a chiseled and defiant jaw. For a second, she wondered what it'd be like spending the day just looking at him.   

But there were other pressing matters she should concern herself about and recalling that, she snarled at him, "What the hell are you doing here!"       

"Good morning indeed." He stood on the end of the bed, chuckling and tilting his head at her as he continued shuffling his hair.      

"Why are you naked? And in my room!?"      

"I just finished my shower, why won't I be naked?" He said dryly, flinging the towelette on his shoulder. "Don't tell me you shower with your clothes on?"  

She glowered at him, not appreciating the sarcasm.   

"Then again, I would know that you don't." He winked at her.   

Blood rushed to her neck and cheeks, all the matter of humiliating scenarios playing in her mind. Feeling exposed, she tugged the sheets tighter around her and vocalized the thought that needed to be settled "Did… something happen.. Between…us?"  

"You don't remember anything from last night?" He smirked.     

"Well, I wouldn't ask you if I remembered. Now, would I?" She glared at him again, training her eyes to stay on his face and not on the dripping droplets on the pronounced division between his pectorals.       

"Don't worry," He strolled to her side of the bed, a proud air about him.  "It was as hot and sensual as the first time we did it."  

Nervous by the minute as he placed a knee on the bed, one hand keeping the towel from slipping off his waist, she croaked, "Tell the truth, Grady!"   

He smelt of soap and minted aftershave, the broad and sinewy expanse of tan skin marred by thin, long white scars. The air between them crackled with tension. Claire held her breath and edged further away.     

"You want me to explain the details?" He sat down. "We had a couple of drinks and then…you kissed me. All the way from the bar up to your door. Passionately, may I add,"       

She felt her forehead wrinkled to a disbelieving frown. She couldn't have done that...could she?  

"Then I fumbled for your key card for a little while because you were busy biting my ear and throwing my shirt and jacket on the hallway." Owen narrated, leaning his hand on her side, now caging her.      

"You sure wanna hear the best and most romantic part of the evening, Miss Dearing?" He continued in a deep, serious voice that she felt had been meant to seduce her. She saw his eyes drifting down her parted lips as she stared at him, with unfaltering attention.      

"You pushed me on the wall… that wall… and you… God, you…" he chuckled, biting the corner of his lip. "You vomited just in time you reached the toilet."  

The stern expression on his face dissolved as he threw a fit of laughter. He gave her personal space back by sitting on the edge of the bed, allowing her but a moment to breathe.  

A sheer amount of humiliation filled her eyes. "That's not funny!" she shrieked, grabbing the pillow from behind her and smacking his arm with it. He laughed as he caught it and threw it away on the other side of the bed.    

If that wasn't humiliating enough, he added, "It's true though, every word. Then you insisted to take a shower before bed."       

She felt the color drain from her face. "We…showered together?"      

"Well no, I didn't join you. I’m not one to take advantage of drunk women." He defended, "But I couldn't leave you alone. You should have seen yourself, slightly covered with your own vomit."    

"You... undressed me?" She stuttered, equally horrified. So much for self-preservation and self-control.   

"It was hardly my first time to see you naked, you know." He paused and raised his eyebrows at her. _True_. "But you did that all by yourself. All I did was hand you the soap and the towel and watch you not drown yourself in the bathtub, of course. Then help you get into that devil of a dress."     

She buried her face in her hands, groaned loudly and fell back on the bed. " I am. Never. Drinking. Again." She muttered, looking up at the Victorian ceiling once again.       

Owen laughed again, a good-natured laugh. "You had a great time though, you kept repeating it."  

"I was drunk. You can't hold me accountable for the things I said or did when I'm drunk."  

"Well, that's too bad because I already made up my mind." He chuckled in a low, determined tone.   

Claire tucked her chin as she looked at him, "Made your mind about what?"   

The doorbell echoed suddenly and she felt the shift on the mattress as he got up. Claire couldn't help it. She turned her head and watched him go, admiring the ripple of his back muscles. It made her remember how his shoulders hunched when he was embracing and taking her. Feeling an uneasiness rising up from the tip of her toes to her cheeks, she stuffed another pillow on her face. She heard the quiet stomps of his bare feet on the carpeted floor before she felt him nudged her with his knee. "Here. Drink this."      

Pulling the pillow away, she saw him hover her. In his hands were a plastic cup with two white capsules on it and a glass of water and his suit laundered and in a black garment bag on top of the kitchen island. 

Claire sat up slowly, deliberately avoiding his gaze. "Thank you."       

"Nah, it was nothin'." He mumbled, sitting on the bed again.      

He was watching her, she could tell from the corner of her eye as she swallowed the aspirin. Owen grabbed the glass from her when she finished, making her lock her gaze with him. And there it was again, that sincere expression in his eloquent, green eyes. Unsure what to make of it, she cleared her throat, "I need to take a bath."       

His expression changed into something ludicrous, he waggled his eyebrows at her and joked, "Want me to join you? I won't mind another one."  

"Move." She scowled at him, rolled her eyes and held the pillow to her chest as she tried getting up.     

"You sure?" He joked, squinting his eyes at her.      

Claire smacked her pillow on his face with showy contempt.     

Grabbing the sheet, he wasn't sitting on, she pushed past him and trekked towards the wardrobe to get her clothes (she wouldn't dare to dress in front of him) and to the bathroom. And only faced him to relay Lowery's call.   

When she turned around, Owen was smiling smugly at her. His biceps and abs in full display as he leaned on his arms on the bed behind him.       

"You got your clothes. Why are you still naked?"   

"Got distracted. Seeing you all worked up is delightful." He adjusted his body and leaned on one elbow.   

"I'm not- Why do you always…Lowery called. I didn't mean to answer it. I thought your phone was mine."      

"Oh yeah? What did he want?" Owen replied, reaching for his phone.  

"He didn't say. But he sounded urgent. He told me that you have to call him."       

His face darkened, gone was the flirty Owen she knew not minutes ago. He stood up and she watched him paced the floor as he read something on his phone.       

"Is there a problem?" She asked from the bathroom door, slightly concerned. Maybe she was just overthinking but if that was Lowery and Zia then it has to do with something with the Grady Corp.       

"No, no. Everything's fine." He offered her an unconvincing smile but she nodded nonetheless.     

She was about to close the door when Owen called out, "Have breakfast with me.”   

She hid behind the door and saw him move behind the counter to put his pants on.      

"Why would I do that?" It came out sharper than she intended.       

He peered from hanging the towel on the barstool and shrugged. "Because I'm running out of excuses why we shouldn't hang out. And there are actually some things I want to run by you. About work, if that pleases you."      

Claire felt a prick of conscience. The man did take care of her even though he had a choice to leave her on her own bilious mishaps. In addition to that, of the two times they spent the night together (with the second one recently established as purely out of concern) he had been the perfect gentleman. What could be the harm?       

"I'll be ready in 10 minutes." she conceded.      

Besides, it was not like they're gonna get married or anything.    

* * *

 

She entered the large archway of a smaller reception where the breakfast buffet was being held. And above the singer's acoustic and slow version of Chapel of Love, Zara's voice rung through, her diamond rings glistered as it caught the sun rays emitting from the large windows of the restaurant. "Claire!"    

The English woman left her husband and walked towards her direction. The woman must have assumed she was alone because Zara insisted she sit with them, "We don't mind!"      

Owen had to answer a few calls hence he told her to go ahead and reserve them a table. Claire shook her head, "No, no, that's ok. I'm actually with-"      

"You look radiant, Mrs. Allerton." Owen was suddenly behind her and he leaned over to give Zara a kiss on both cheeks.     

If her assistant noticed Owen was wearing the same formal attire he had on the night before, she didn't say but Claire swore she could pin the knowing grin and mischievous hint in her assistant's brown eyes.       

Alec, a handsome, blonde-haired man in his late 30s joined them and shook hands with both her and Owen.      

Prior to the wedding, none of them have ever met Zara's husband. But Owen was talking to him as if he had known him for a long time. They exchanged a quick, small talk about the wedding and the scenery. Claire watched the conversation play out with silence and repressed amazement, thinking she would never learn the trick on how to make people like her instantly unlike Owen who was obviously Mr. Congeniality even outside the office grounds.       

"Would you like to join us in our table?" Alec pulled Zara closer to his side, head inclining to the table for four by the center aisle.   

Claire hesitated.      

"Thank you but we actually have plans today." Owen beamed at the couple and turned to her, "Don't we?"     

Claire looked at him quizzically and Owen replied by pressing a hand on the low of her back to her waist.   

"Bummer, but maybe we could tee together sometime?"   

"Definitely man. Oh, and Zara, don't show your face at the office for the next two weeks or I'll fire you." Owen kissed her cheek as he said his goodbye.     

"Thank you, Owen." Zara glanced cheekily at her again from over his shoulder.      

"Anyway, we really have to be goin'. Claire?"      

Claire nodded before shaking hands with Alec and hugging Zara.  “Last night was a wonderful service. Thank you for the invite and enjoy your honeymoon."     

"You're looking a little more red than usual, boss," Zara whispered through gritted teeth as her cheek touched Claire's.   

Pretending not to hear her, she replied, "I'll see you in two weeks, ok?"   

"Have a safe drive, guys. Look out the road. The employees here warned us about street racers and hitchhikers." Alec reminded Owen, clapping his shoulder as a final farewell.   

"I already got your bags in the car," he confirmed when they made their way outside and into the driveway.       

"I thought we're having breakfast?" Claire put on her sunglasses as they walk to her car. Her hand trying to grasp for her keys in the bag. 

"We are. Just not here. Keys?"    

* * *

    

Claire loved the city, with its bustling and improved lanes but she cannot deny it in herself to enjoy a little rural sightseeing once in a while.       

For the past half hour, Owen drove through nothing but forest trees and winding roads. They were heading towards the mountain from the looks of it. At several points during their drive, she asked where they were going, to which he just smiled, pulling random facts about the old shrines and shrubs of plants they had passed. It didn't take too much effort to talk, Claire thought. She answered and nodded when he was talking sense and argued and glared when he was being flirty and cocky.   

Eventually, the endless orchard of wilderness all slimmed down to a wooden lodge held over the lake by thick logs and steel, with a thicket of trees surrounding it; the words "Johnny's" sculpted on the signage.       

The rich smell of pine filled her senses when they entered the lobby, candelabras decorated the high ceiling supported by huge trunks of trees at the sides. For walls, the lodge combined a great deal of stone and wood, providing coziness and warmth. Tables and chairs scattered on the laminated wooden floors and at the end of the room were a wide glass entrance leading to the deck of umbrellas and outdoor dining. Although packed with couples, families with their strollers and servers and their food trays, it was still a serene and amiable sight.      

"You ever been here?" he asked her, rubbing the back of his neck. 

His shyness almost made Claire smile. She shook her head as they head over the reception desk.  

"We used to go here. A family friend owns this place"   

A voice boomed out before they could approach the platform, making them turn. A female in a ruffled blouse and pencil skirt whose blonde wavy hair was in a low ponytail, shouted over the soft ballad music, "Is that Owen Grady?!"       

"Hey! How are you doin' Lex?" He hugged her tightly that her heels left the floor. Claire's eyes darted back and forth between the two.     

"It's so good to see you!" The woman's attention now fell on Claire. "You brought someone! Hi!"       

"Claire this is Alexis Murphy, she and her brother, Tim now own the place. Lex, Claire Dearing."      

"Hi. Nice to meet you. You have quite a view here." Claire complimented and gave her a polite smile.   

"Thank you, Claire. Let me escort you to Owen's usual table."   

"That's not necessary Lex, don't want to keep you from anything."   

Lex waved her hand at him. "Nonsense Owe. This way."   

Claire walked at Owen's side, not wanting to get in between them. She stood up straighter when his hand resumed its position at the small of her back, his steps falling with her.   

The radio in Lex's hand kept cracking but she paid no attention to it as the two friends chatted pleasantries.     

"Here you are."  she led them outside the deck, and Claire thought the mountain views couldn't get any more beautiful.      

Lex sat them at the secluded two-seater table on the east balcony. "I'll make sure everything is great before they hand it to you guys. I hope you'll like it here Claire."     

"Thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you."     

"Tell Ed I said hi." Owen leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.    

"I will." Lex beamed cordially at them before she called for a waiter on her radio and left.       

"You and Alexis seem pretty close." Claire finally said as she reached for the menu.      

"I guess. My mom was best friends with Lex's mom and…at some point, we thought we have to be as well..."    

"What do you mean?"     

"We dated for a couple of years." He informed her casually.      

A little shock from this information, Claire peeked over the laminated list to look at him. He was bobbing his head and pursing his lips in tune with the music coming from the outdoor speakers as his eyes skimmed the menu before him.      

"Yeah? What happened?" She probed in the laziest tone she could muster, eyes stayed on the same letter on the menu.      

"We were both young and still trying to figure what we really wanted. When I did know and decided to join the Navy, she was strongly against it. That was it. But we parted in great terms though."     

She nodded in reply and yet unable to understand the small twinge of envy that settled on her stomach.   

A happy-looking male waiter in his checkered uniform, big round glasses and notepad came for their orders, "Morning folks, what can I get for you today?"    

* * *

 

Nature resonated with laughter, endless conversations and clanking of utensils on ceramic plates as the morning went on. Claire and Owen were talking about his recent business trip to Chicago and what else happened in the company during his absence while he was away in business trips before it took a playful turn. 

If anyone paid attention to the two-good looking couple seated under the biggest umbrella on the deck, the listener would hear the brag show of their recent accomplishments. Although it was entirely amicable on the man’s part, it can't be said for the woman whose chance to prove herself hadn't entirely left her.      

Their orders, which consisted of omelets, French toasts, and pancakes, arrived in the middle of an all-too-familiar discussion.     

"-and I already set up a meeting with Erica Burnard on the 21st." she boasted while slicing her pancakes.  

"Did you really?" a great sense of irony could be detected in his voice as he munched on this French toast, one elbow on the table.     

"Don't sound so surprised," she replied, smiling like the cat that got the cream.     

"All right, all right. But you didn't get the green light from Ian Malcolm, I did. How about that Miss Dearing?" pointing his own fork to himself, his smirk owning him.   

Claire almost choked out the blueberries on her pancakes. Her mouth hung open. "You did? Did you get the resort? THE resort?!"       

"Don't sound so surprised. I'm signing the contract in Costa Rica in two weeks." He wiped his lips with the table napkin.   

"Well..." She cleared her throat. "Looks like I taught you well. You're welcome by the way. But you're still, probably the smartest idiot I have ever met." closing her mouth on the forkful of her breakfast, she grinned at him.     

"Wow. Wow. Only you can manage to compliment and insult me at the same time. How do you do that? Seriously?" He snorted, pushed his empty plate so he could rest his hands on the table.  

"Did you ever consider that I might know a little more than you do?" His eyes glinted like rare jades, beautiful and tempting.     

"I highly doubt that Mr. Grady but you're welcome to prove me wrong."     

"Oh, I'm never the one to go down without a fight _Miss Dearing._ " Owen snickered, a humorous air in his whole demeanor. Claire got the sense that they weren't talking about the same thing anymore.     

Inadvertently, an incessant ring interrupted their peaceful morning.    

Both adults reached for their phones. When she realized it was not hers, she put her phone down.       

"Lowery." Owen excused himself by holding up one finger. He walked at the far end of the deck, far from anyone's ears.      

She studied him as he talked on the phone. She wasn't aware that she was paying particular attention to his lips. Not until Owen winked at her. She hurriedly looked the other way.    

Claire observed her surroundings. To quote him earlier, it was "a beautiful change in view." And she agreed. The meadow encircling them were lusciously green; the lake bathed with the golden hue of the morning sun as a swarm of colorful butterflies and white seed pods of dandelions danced in the crisp air around them. Feathered-animals continued their harmonize songs in their nesting trees that kept dancing as the wind blows. The people around them were deep in their own conversations with big bright smiles on their faces. Claire could see the children playing and running on the shallow part of the water, their high-pitched shrieks, and laughter distinct to her ears while their parents were on standby, with their towels on the rough sand.       

When her sister got married, the thought of having a family of her own became an idea, a what if. It bothered her at the time. Moreover, when her sister had her first child. But due to the lack of- shall we say- a foeman to match her steel, she shrugged it off, forgotten, like a few bad decisions she had had. Instead, she worked hard and made herself perfect; so high above the ground no one can touch her nor bring her down.      

On the lake ahead, near the buoy, she saw two snow-white swans paddling on the peaceful water and their three baby swans following them. Claire felt her lips stretch into a smile as she watched them with fascination.       

"I remember when my late husband used to look at me like that."      

Claire pivoted on her chair and saw an old woman at the nearby table, looking at her. She was wearing a white blouse, capri pants and a hat that covered most of her hair, gold rings circled her long, wrinkly fingers; her smile as regal and radiant as her ebony skin. Although her table had two finished plates on it, she was sitting alone.      

"Excuse me?"     

"Your boyfriend, over there. He sure is quite a catch. How long have you been together?” She pointed her cane at Owen who just turned his back on them.      

"Oh no. We're not... He's not... We're not together." Claire amended, shaking her head.      

"You're not?" The woman rested her hands on the cane, her body now fully turned towards Claire.  

"No, we just work together."  

"Mmm-mmm. Shame. You make one beautiful couple." The lady's soft eyes regarded her.  

She didn't know what to reply without insinuating she was implying something. "Uhm...How long were you married?" she began cautiously, trying an idle conversation with the stranger.    

"I was married to the same knucklehead for 57 years before he had a cardiac arrest."      

"I'm sorry." She sympathized and added, "That's a long time. I've never met anyone whose relationship lasted that long."  

The lady offered her a lonely facial expression. "I'm sorry for that, love."  

"No, don't be."  

"Can I offer you some advice though?"    

Claire nodded.       

"I learned that love, True love that is, isn't glamorous. Not like them books and movies. My husband and I would argue over the simplest, most mediocre things, but we're always a team at the end of the day. He has my back and I have his. That's what made it worth it." the old woman flashed her a smile, her eyes sparkling like she was envisioning a time past.    

Not knowing what else to say, she smiled at the sweet elderly.       

"Anyway, I've wasted your time long enough. My granddaughter‘s probably finished with her meeting.” The old woman got up shakily with the help of her crane. Claire stood by her side, helping her up. “I’m sorry for being so bold."  

"Not at all. It was my pleasure. I'm Claire, by the way."       

"Jane.” The woman covered both her geriatric yet smooth hands on Claire's in a soft grip. 

“And Claire?” Before Jane exited the deck completely, she turned to her again and stated in a calm tone, “At least I hope you know that he likes you. You've got to be blind to not see that."   

Claire watched her walk between tables before she was soon guided by a young woman. Jane pointed at her and waved. Claire waved back, mirroring her smile.       

Not a minute too soon, when she sat in their table, Owen came back. A rather distracted one compared to his usual cool and I-got-this-shit- handled countenance.  

Still, he attempted to tease her with a pained smile, "Look at you, making friends already."   

Ignoring him, she asked for the second time today. "Is everything ok?"      

"Yeah. You ready to go?" He assured though there was nothing assuring about the way he said it quickly, she thought.    

* * *

 

The car ride from the lodge had been filled with heavy and troublesome silence. It was suffocating. Claire glanced back at him from time to time, making sure that he wasn't asleep.       

"Spill it out, Owen, I'm not stupid."  she exasperated when she had enough.    

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." He looked at her swiftly before going back on the curvy asphalt road.      

"I know Lowery. He rambles like a kid on sugar when he's nervous. If it's something has got to do with the company, you have to tell me."   

He stayed quiet for a little bit but let out a giant breath right before he answered her, "What happened to that employee?"      

She blinked at him. "What do you mean? Who?"      

"The guy from financing who got fired. The one who shouted at you."   

Oh. "You mean Mr. Nedry? That was a couple of months ago."      

"Yes. What happened?" He quipped and she could tell he was annoyed for some reason.  

"I wasn’t the only one who noticed it. His team kept rerunning the numbers before they mentioned it to me. They were afraid of him, I think. So I checked onto it and I found a number of discrepancy values and lack thereof on his reports.      

"And?"  

Claire considered him for a minute and took into account how he clenched his fingers around the steering wheel, his jaw and eyes bleak with silent hostility.    

"When I try to confront him for it, he insulted me."      

"What did he say to you?"      

"The same thing they always say." she was cut off when three cars whizzed past them, their engines roared in breakneck speeds, making Owen blazed the horn in earnest.       

"And what was that?" Owen insisted.    

"Does it matter? I don't see the point of entertaining you with it."  Claire couldn't see the relativity of all his questions and sudden curiosity about the company gossips; she didn't picture him as someone partial to it.    

"And what about the assessment reports he submitted?"  He honked the car horn again when another flying car flashed on their right. "These damned kids," he muttered.    

"Antonio is still validating it when I checked up on it Friday. He told me he’s gonna drive his kid to the hospital. He was kind of, in a rush.” 

“He said that?” 

“Yeah. I didn’t even know he had a kid. But where are we going with this?"     

She saw Owen paled, his knuckles went an ugly color of yellowish white as he choked the steering wheel.  

"What's going on Owen?" nervousness seeping on her every nerve.    

"Tell me this.  How long he’s been our Head Finance officer?" he voiced with gritted teeth.    

"3 years? Give or take a few months. You're making me nervous. What's going on, Owen?"     

He exhaled an anxious and hurried breath, "Zia wasn't just a distraction. We studied Behavioral studies together. Her focus was on Human Psychology and she was the best among us. She worked with me in the Navy both as an assistant surgeon and Psychologist. After I found out about Mills, I had the feeling there was still more to it because it wouldn't be possible for Mills to pull this stunt alone-"    

Her mouth parted in disbelief. "You hired Zia as a private investigator?"    

He nodded. "Zia just found out about Nedry this morning and you confirmed it. But it turns out, he has another accomplice. And thanks to your little information, I think I might have figured out who's the other one." 

“What?” 

“Claire, Antonio doesn’t have any kids. He became a barren at 16. He told us this during the lunch meeting with the Chinese. He divorced his wife because of that. So, if miraculously he managed to bring up a child in a span of a week...” 

“He’s lying.” Claire mumbled, outrage from the confession.  

"The only way Nedry could have covered his tracks was if he had someone backing him up-"      

"-And as the one incharge of our Finances, he's responsible for all our financial statements."  she finished for him, not believing her own ears. Yet somehow, it all made sense. The unfinished and late, documents and all the stalling. "I have Antonio's past reports for the last two years back in the office."    

"Do you mind if I drop myself there first?"     

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm coming with you." she fired up, strength in will clear on her whole composure.  

He hesitated for a second but his face eventually dimpled as he gave her a side-swept glance, "Yes Ma'am."    

There was a lace of amusement in the way he had said it and Claire's smirk replaced her sullen face. "Then you better step on it."    

But no sooner she had said it, she heard a sharp, banging noise; a wrecking sound of metal hitting metal.  Something made the car propel forward with a violent tug.     

Her seatbelt restrained her from hitting the dashboard with a deadly blow.    

Another earth-shattering force from their left side.     

Her head hit the window with a loud and vicious thud that she saw stars in her vision.    

"Claire!"     

She had never heard Owen sounding so helpless.    

An ear-splitting screech.    

The smell of burning tires.    

She wanted to call him but she can't speak.    

The trees off-road got closer.   

Birds lost their song.   

The car spun around and around.    

The sun turned grey.  

She was getting dizzy and her head hurt.     

The car stopped spinning.    

A cloud of smoke.    

A dead engine.    

Silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides behind hand* I'M BACK from a bad case of writer's block.
> 
> The reason why the men in Grady Corp "suddenly lost their interest" (mentioned in the previous chapters) in Christianne/Zia was they learned she was lesbian, and Claire, being kind of aloof with the rest of their staff was the only person who had no idea. I felt like I needed to point that out. If you need other clarifications, feel free to comment or message me. 
> 
> Also, each chapter contains hints on what will happen in the future chapters, so I hope you'll stay with me. Tell me what you think about our two idiots, who finally had their first date (kuno) and that little "snippet" in the end. This story lives for your reviews! 
> 
> Please correct me for any grammatical errors or anything. Thank you so much for reading. :)


	9. Die Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet. I hope you enjoy this one. :) -j

   **Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is.**   

 

-German Proverb

 

* * *

When Claire was young, she learned a very important trick.

 

 

 Mrs. Emily Mcdonough's class decided to join the Advance Spelling Competition. Being the top of her class, 8-year old Claire Dearing was the representative. She wrestled with five thesaurus books for a month. Broke library rules by overstaying before and after school hours in preparation. Karen, her elder sister worried over her and watched as she turned to the next page and gobbled her chips over the dining table. Her main reason? Claire wanted to impress her parents who will skip work to see her compete.

 

The night before the competition, Claire felt an unpleasant sensation after she peed. She didn't wake Karen (who was snoozing off the twin bed opposite hers) nor stir her parents in the other room. She strode in the kitchen, got the step ladder and snuck the bottle of Advil in her pajamas. She was grateful that the ache dulled right before she fell asleep.

 On the day of the event, even after emptying the bottle of syrup, the pain became sharper. Even so, Claire, ever goal-oriented that she was, convinced herself that it didn't hurt. She smiled through her anguish, delivered the correct words and won with a landslide.

 

Everyone was ecstatic and proud of her. She was so over the moon that it almost masked her discomfort. It was when they arrived home that Claire broke. She fell down, clutched her abdomen, and finally admitted the excruciating pain she was in. The Dearings rushed her to the hospital. They found out that she developed a Urinary Tract Infection because of the junk food she ate the past few weeks. It wasn't life threatening so the doctors allowed her to go home after a few hours.

 

 

 

 

That night, She was relishing her victory, unable to go to sleep. The hurried whispers of their parents down the hall were also distracting her awake.

Lately, Claire noticed that their parents only talk to each other when she and her sister were not around. They would stay silent over the family meals and activities. Karen told her not to make a fuss about it since Claire's birthday was coming up. Their parents were being secretive so they wouldn't ruin her surprise. 

 

An ounce of hallway light lit the room when her father peeked in.

  _"Why are you still awake, Champ?"_  

 

_She sat up, adjusting the brightness of her lamp. "I can't sleep."_

_"Does it still hurt?_

_"She shook her head. "Not at all, Dad."_

_"Then why are you awake? Something wrong?" Her dad opened the door and walked to her._

_"No. I was having a flashback how I won by spelling, 'bourgeoisie'."_

  _"Of course, you do." The man laughed out loud._

 

 

_"Shush! keep quiet, Karen's sleeping. She'll get mad at if you woke her up." Claire hissed, glancing at her sister's hunched back._

  _Ron Dearing chuckled, pressed a finger to his lips and knelt by her bed "You're right. Shush."_

 

 

_"Mrs. Mcdonough told me I can compete with the older kids for the next competition. She said I have a good chance of winning again." She whispered, pride swelling in her voice._

 

_"You have to get better first. Did you drink your medicine?"_

_Claire nodded._

_"Good girl. You were amazing today Claire-bear and I'm so proud of you."_

_"Thanks, daddy. I'm gonna win next time as well." She giggled with a promise._

  _"I'm sure you will. But I'm not talking about the spelling bee." pinching her pink nose._

 

 

  _The thick fringe covered the frown on her forehead. "You're not?"_

 

_Mr. Dearing shook his head, "I'm prouder that you were able to hold yourself up there. I'm sorry sweetie that we didn't notice. But why didn't you tell us?"_

_Claire shrugged in her night gown. "I wanted to compete. But it hurt right after the third round. But I wanted to win. Mrs. Mcdonough told me that she'll give my classmates 5 points in the exam if I won. So, I focused on that. I told myself that it didn't hurt so bad that I believed it."_

_Her dad stifled another laugh and kissed her forehead. He knew Claire was smart, both his daughters were, but his youngest might grow up as someone else's challenge yet. He hoped he'd be still allowed to see it. "Oh, sweetie. You're gonna be a handful."_

It was that day Claire learned that the mind and the heart could be easily tricked. It could be easily persuaded and manipulated of an emotion you ought not to feel. That mindset helped her a great deal in life but as a consequence, it catalysed her as the antagonistic woman she was today. She was intimidating, controlled, impassive and focused.

But now, for the first time -in a very long time- she couldn't do it; Claire couldn't numb the feeling of distraction. The grip she built her entire life loosened, thus an unexplainable emotion. An emotion threatening to shake her, her beliefs and her world apart.

 

 

She was back to work after three days of hospitalisation. The doctors had advised her to take it easy due to the concussion she sustained from the accident. It wasn't anything serious and only required ample rest. Yet, they couldn't say the same for her companion.

 

What made it worse were the ubiquitous questions people were asking her. As if she needed another reason for him to occupy her thoughts. It was disconcerting, a daily reminder of the nightmare she was having a hard time waking up from.

The environment in the office was bleak. One can feel the waning distress and worry in the air; the laughter and chatters ceased to almost nothing. The shades drawn as if its occupants were afraid of the sun. The air-condition blew colder air still. It felt and looked like... well, an office. Whereas before, it resembled a happy gathering among friends.

Claire stared at the vase of fresh bouquet given to her by her staff. It was on the center table of her sitting area, a Welcome Back card hanging between the green stems. She never liked flowers but she was too exhausted and distracted to refuse a simple act of kindness.

In front of her, seated on the leathered armchairs were two business-clad FBI agents. Claire couldn't remember their names but she disliked the one on her right. He must have thought that the mustache gave him a more mature look (it didn't). He had a smug appearance and a faint scar on his left cheek, making him appear more distrustful than he already was. His patronizing attitude didn't go unnoticed by Claire's peers. The other one sitting opposite him looked kinder. He was somewhere between his 30's, has curly brown hair and a calm face.

Claire was on the edge. Her composure on the brink of thin ice that one un-calculated move, she knew she would lash out.

 

Zara and Lowery, who never left her side since that day, were already looking at her with woe expressions.

 "What do you remember Miss Dearing?"

"Haven't we been through this before? We talked with the police a few days ago." Zara answered for her.

 

 

Claire offered her a thankful smile. She owed Zara her life. Both of them. Zara and her husband delayed their honeymoon after the accident. Leaving Claire with a huge feeling of guilt. But they both convinced her that they didn't mind putting it off for a month. It was an apt time for her full recovery and for Zara to finish her training her substitute.

 "We're not talking to you; we're talking to her." The officer with the mustache replied, pointing his fingers at her and then Zara.

 

 

With an icy expression, she turned to him. "Officers, I appreciate what you're doing here. But as long as you're in our turf, you'll play by our rules and that includes respecting everyone in this room." She intimidated in a passive and domineering voice, squaring her shoulders. "Are we clear on that?"

"I'm sorry Miss Dearing." The quieter agent glanced at his companion who shrugged, nonchalant

 He continued, "At the scene, before it happened. What do you remember?"

 

 

Her flashbacks led to him, smiling. The left side of his face wrinkled as he told her one of his flirty jokes. That unsettling feeling on her stomach was back again. She wished nobody noticed the tremor passing through her as she began her tale again. "We were traveling back home and there were three cars speeding past us before it happened."

"Yes, 'Devil Road's known for illegal car races." Rude curly, blonde-haired guy exhaled with a resigned air.

 "In the middle of the day?" Lowery cut in.

 "Yes, sir. Kids fly from different parts of town once a month for it."

The other guy informed, giving them a tolerant smile. She decided she liked this one better than sulky face on her right. "Do you remember the model or color of the cars?"

"The first one's Red with a black hood, the second one was white. I'm not sure about the models. But the third one was a grey Lamborghini."

"How about the cars that hit you?" The irritating man on her right scribbled her descriptions on the notepad.

 Claire shook her head, disappointed at herself for remembering everything but that. "No. I don't remember."

"It's okay, Ma'am. Patients who survived car accidents experience a kind of trance when it happens. We don't expect you to remember that. Do we, Walters?" The kinder guy called down his companion. At least she wasn't the only one feeling that way about him.

 "If you say so, Brennan." The rude blonde-haired guy, named Walters droned, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here. 

The soft-spoken man on her left, Brennan, turned to her again. "After that? Can you tell us what happened? After you woke up?"

 

 

> _"Claire! Claire! Please wake up! Open your eyes!"_
> 
> _Claire groaned, opened heavy eyes and blinked at him. Both his hands were holding her face, his eyes frantic and wild with fear. His face and pleas started to zoom into focus, tormented and desperate._  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _"Look at me, please. That's it. That's it." Owen breathed a sigh of relief and touched his forehead against hers. "Thank God."_
> 
> _"Owen." Claire mumbled, regaining her consciousness albeit slow. Her head felt like it was in half. There were grains of shattered glass everywhere; on the dashboard, her lap and feet. Owen was crouching beside her. The suicide doors on her side opened, facing the empty highway. The driver's side crushed against the trees._

 

Walters opened a folder and laid some pictures of her car on the table. The different angles showed the driver's side looking like a semi-crumpled tin can. A tree almost cutting the rear apart. "The report here read that Mr. Grady was driving the car back to the city. Upon investigation, after the cars hit you, Mr. Grady drifted the vehicle, spun it the other way around . So that it would be his side that'll receive the hardest impact. Is that true?"

 

 

Claire avoided the pictures, kept a straight face and looked ahead. "Yes."

 

 

>   _"Are you hurt? Are you hurt anywhere? Claire, focus on me. Look at me. Eyes open Claire." He ordered, almost shouted at her, his hands on either side of her neck, pulling her face up at him._
> 
>   _"My head… it hurts… Are you ok?" she asked, noticing the cuts on his eyebrow and cheeks._
> 
>   _"You might have a concussion. I need you to stay focus ok? Don't close your eyes. You have to get up, can you get up? " Owen's scared eyes and hands frisking over her body for other wounds._
> 
> _She nodded._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Owen released her seatbelt and helped her stand up. With cautious and slow movements, they got out of the rubble. She leaned to him as she waited for her world to stop spinning and her legs to stop wobbling._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _"You're okay, I got you. I got you. Thank God." He repeated, putting his arms around her. She felt him kissed the side of her head before they ambled on the opposite direction, a few good feet away from the car. Claire kept an arm around Owen, and him around her shoulders. Both leaning against the other._
> 
>   _"We have to call someone. My phone slipped between the doors. Do you have yours?" Owen pulled away to lean on the trunk of a towering maple tree._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Claire grabbed for the phone in her person and walked by the side road for a signal. After a brief and detailed call to 911, she left another call for Zara who cried on the phone._
> 
> _"We'll be there okay. Hang in there. I'm so sorry Claire. Are you guys ok?" Zara said, her voice cracking with emotion._
> 
>   _"Yes, we're fine. A little disheveled but fine." She glanced back at Owen propped up by the tree. Terror washed over her like a cold sweat; her eyes dilated in fear._
> 
>   _She've heard about this before. About how the adrenaline kept people from freaking out during calamities. It must be running out because Owen was pale- sickly pale. His left arm dangled in an awkward way and the right side of his white dress shirt turned red with every exhale. He slid down and landed on the roots of the tree he was leaning against._
> 
>   _"Owen? Owen!" She knelt down in front of him, her phone forgotten on the rocky pavement. She pulled his shirt off his side and cursed. The skin sliced and blood flowed from the wound. She covered a shaking hand on it. "You're bleeding!"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>   _The fresh glass cuts on his face had already dried, making his face appear grayer. But he smiled weakly at her, "And you're beautiful."_
> 
>   _"You're an idiot! What do I do Owen? What do I do?" Claire couldn't contain the horror from her voice._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _"I'm okay Claire." He breathed with closed eyes._
> 
>   _"No, you're not! What do I do? Let me… let me see if I have… if I have a first aid… first aid kit in my car. Or..or.. something... Wait here okay? Wait here." She stuttered, hands and teeth trembling. Claire whipped her head around the column of trees, the deserted highway for any sign of help. There were only them._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>   _She stood up but Owen stopped her, his hand restraining her. "No. Stay. "_
> 
>   _Her knees scraped the rough ground as she knelt beside him again, panic stricken. She watched as his face turned an ashen color, their hands joining and covering his bleeding side._
> 
> _"Keep calm. Help will be here soon." He asserted. His hand feeble and squeezing hers._
> 
>   _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. No, no, no. Stay with me, ok? Eyes open, remember?" She cradled his face and shook it, horrified by his lack of reaction._
> 
>   _"It's gonna be ok, Claire." He took a sharp intake of breath before Claire saw him slouch, the hold on her hand slackened._
> 
> _"Don't you dare, Grady. Don't you dare!"_

 

"Then what happened?"

>   _Claire never felt more terrified in her entire life. "No, no, no! Owen!" She titled his head up and shook him again, with much force this time. "Wake up, you idiot! Wake up!" She couldn't hear anything except the ringing in her ears and the loud thunder in her chest. Unaware of anything besides Owen and how he was not moving. "Owen!" she shouted for one last attempt. With her knees still shaking, she stumbled where she dropped her phone and dialled Zara's number again. Her bloodied and quivering fingers smearing the screen. Tears were threatening to fall but she fought it._

 

"Ma'am?"

Claire hid trembling hands under the desk. It was taking all her willpower not to throw up any minute. Zara must have noticed her distress because she finished the story:

 

"Me and my husband came to the scene. She was on the ground beside him, trying to wake him, her phone in one hand. The cars that hit them had run off and left the scene with nothing but tire marks. We carried them to the car and met the ambulance halfway on the road. As we already declared a few days ago at the hospital."

 

 

 Her assistant looked at her again and lied, "Claire, you have meeting with the Atty. Sanderson in ten minutes, do you want me to move it?"

 

 

"That's alright Ma'am, we uh, we got what we needed.'' Brennan interrupted as he stood up. Walter followed, arranging the crease on his coat.

"I'm sorry Ma'am that this has happened to you." Agent Brennan added, a consoling expression on his generous features. "Thank you for your time Miss Dearing."

Claire gave him a small, sincere smile. He gathered his things and turned to leave as Lowery opened the door for him.

 "Miss Dearing. You're very lucky, Mr. Grady knew how to-" Walters muttered, offering his hand to her.

 

 

 Something in her snapped. Lucky? Owen's been unconscious for days and she's lucky? Having enough of his impolite and insensitive attitude, she reprimanded him. "Excuse me?"

 

 

"Eric." Brennan warned his associate from the doorway.

 "No, I didn't mean it like that-" regret replaced the smugness of his expressions earlier. If he didn't know he was stepping over a line before, he certainly did now.

"Sir, I trust you can find your own way out." Claire's voice, hard and brittle as she stood up, holding him down with a steady, irritated gaze.

 

 

"Here's the door, Walters." Lowery snickered from the door, opening it wide. The man walked straight out without another word.

 

 

"What a dick." He mumbled when he closed the door.

 

 

 Claire reclined on her seat, noting the wall clock that read 3:03 pm. Time moved slower these past few days.

She exhaled heavily, "Zara, what else do I have today?"

 

 

"Claire." Zara started and Claire knew that tone. "You should take off early. Have a rest."

 "Yeah. We'll handle this. Everything's taken care off." Lowery consoled, occupying the seat the officer vacated.

 She shook her head. If she stayed in one place with no one and nothing to interrupt her solicitude, she's gonna lose her mind. She needed the distraction. Severely. "I'm fine. Where's Antonio?"

Claire told Zara, Lowery and Zia what she and Owen suspected before the crash. And like her, Zara was skeptical at first. But upon checking with the Financial, Legal departments and Zia's information, they were certain that the man was guilty.

"He's here. The jerk still had no idea. See, I knew there was something about him. I don't know why we shouldn't issue a warrant for him right now. I mean, that dickhead Walters might still be at the building." Lowery disclosed, jerking his thumb towards the door.

 

 

"It's good. Right where we wanted him."

"What's the plan here, Claire?" Zara asked, glancing at the both of them.

Claire knew that even the slightest change in the way they treat him, Antonio - meticulous as he was- would notice. "We wait for the moment. Right before Antonio messes up. We'll catch him right in the act. I don't want this to spread like wildfire before we got what we needed. Let's keep this between ourselves for now. How about Mills?"

 

 

"I saw him on the news last night. Apparently, he's in London, still fighting the cases filed against him. Our attorney says he's gonna be broke before the month ends." He said, optimistic for a second. Claire took in his appearance for the first time. Most days, he wouldn't wear a tie and his shirt untucked and wrinkled but now, he actually made an effort. He even cleaned the beard she'd been ordering him to trim. But, the dark bags under his eyes and hunched, restless posture let him down.

"We have to keep an eye on them. Lowery, do you think Zia will be ok with that?"

"Claire, please. The woman likes creeping up on people. She'll do it." He assured, resting his hands behind his head in a lazy manner."Speaking of the devil, where is she?"

"She's at the hospital. I forgot to tell you, Claire. She told me to tell you in case you need her." Zara replied.

 "It's alright."

 

 

On a normal week, the concern and sensitivity from the people around her would be brush-offed. It would have been too much for the Claire Dearing who refuses to get help or need people. But now, due to the circumstances, she found their presence comforting. Well, almost.

"And... Owen?" She lowered her eyes, bracing herself for the bad news or lack of progress. Since her discharge, she hadn't visited him yet and to be honest with herself, she didn't want to see him. Not like that. Not with tubes and wires going in and out of his mouth and chest. A stitched-wound on his right brow. The plaster on his left wrist, a neck brace and wide bandage wrapped around his torso.

"Good news is they transferred him from the ICU. His house caretakers were there when I visited yesterday." Lowery sighed. "I'll drop by later. The art department's tagging along too. Wanna come, Zara?"

"Yeah sure. Alec wanna visit too."

 

 

"They have the best doctors there. I wouldn't worry about him." Lowery cinched, scratching the stubble on his chin. "He's a stubborn piece of ass and according to science, stubborn people tend to live longer than others." But he didn't sound certain at all.

* * *

  _Claire could hear the ringing of her ears again and the raggedness of her breathing. Could hear the despair in his voice as he called out her name over and over again. She wanted to comfort him, tell him she's alright._

 _Her head searched around the shadows, trying to look for the only glimmer of hope in this grey space of nature. She found him. But something was wrong. He had his back up against the tree. His body limped, his beautiful, green eyes staring at her lifelessly and the ghost of her name still on his lips. She rushed to him as tears streamed from her eyes like waterfall. But she was late. She was too late_. 

 

"Owen!"

Claire rose from the bed with a start. Sweat dowsing her forehead, her hair and pillows; sheets tangled and twisted by her hips and feet. Instinctively, she scanned the room, expecting him to be there.

 

The gaping black hole in the pit of her stomach came back again when she realised that he wasn't there. No Owen bugging and driving her nuts at the office for five days now. No Owen flirting with her. No Owen because he saved her, because he put himself in harm's way protecting her. She clutched the damp blanket around her. As if it will help her calm the prickling feeling on her skin or her heaving chest. She was alone, miserable and shivering inside the four walls of the room. And she could not get rid of the thought that he was, too.

It didn't take long for her in deciding her next actions. Grabbing her keys, phone and hoodie over her sweatpants, she was out the door in a heartbeat.

 

* * *

 If one would ask the staff of St. Anthony's Hospital, Nurse Cora Lynde was as warm as the sun on the first day of spring could be. But to herself, Nurse Cora considered herself a realist and hard-to-please person.

 As the head of the nurse's department, it was her sole duty to look out for everybody. And by that, she meant _everybody_. From sickest patient to the maintenance guys roaming around. Nobody could escape her notice. Nobody dared. That was until one late night from a week ago.

  Ever since she saw her tripped out of the elevator and into the hospital suite of one named Owen Michael Grady, the stoic lady nurse has been watching her.

 "The stubborn redhead is back again." She announced to her younger colleagues who chuckled at her.

 

 

"Good luck trying to tell her to go home again tonight, Nurse Cora." One said.

 

 

 "Oh, I wouldn't waste my time, not tonight." She bubbled with an amused grin, noticing the now-familiar woman open the door of Room 10A from the nurse's desk.

The visiting hours were only restricted to parents, siblings and spouses. After checking with her and finding out she wasn't either of those, Nurse Cora persuaded the woman to go home. Night after night, she tried in vain but the redhead wouldn't budged. Naturally, she gave up.

 

 

She found herself curious on who would get this woman so devoted in keeping company every night. And why does he have a lot group of visitors and why would the hospital director pay him a visit?

 

 

 

 The name looked and sounded familiar, though she couldn't point out where it was she saw it. Until, she passed by the volunteers' bulletin board and had a moment of recognition. There was no doubt that this was the same Owen Grady, minus the wires attached to his body. It was Halloween night and all the kids wore their costumes on their wheelchairs and IV stands. The man was kneeling amidst the group, a bright, healthy grin on his rather handsome face. He seemed like a great, genuine guy. No wonder, he has a lot of different visitors, she mused to herself in wonder as she studied the collage.

 With queer interest, Nurse Cora would watch the woman through the glass partition. The redhead's routine was quite simple. She would arrive at the ward at exactly 9pm every night. She would read, sit, sleep on that uncomfortable armchair beside the patient. And by 5:30 in the morning of the following day, she would leave.

Nurse Cora felt the woman's discomfort as she slept on the standard, hospital armchair. Before the woman arrived on the next shift, Cora (with the help of the other nurses) changed the chair for a more comfortable one. The redhead must have noticed their efforts because she left take-outs on the nurse's desk the following night.

 

 

Nurse Cora entered the room for her rounds and felt her heart thawed a little on the scene before her.

The patient has been stable for days now. The wires no longer attached to his body but he was still unconscious. The redheaded woman was sleeping beside him. She was lying on one bent elbow, the left side of her peaceful face within view. One pale and thin hand disappeared inside his hospital gown, right where his heart was.

 The nurse considered not waking her up and disrupt the almost-perfect picture. But it's almost time for her to leave and the woman would be late for whatever she might be late from. She walked over to them and tapped the her awake. "Miss, miss?"

The woman stirred, but didn't wake. Instead, she snuggled closer to the man's shoulder. Her hand crawling to the side of the man's neck, sighing with contentment.

 Cora paused, smiling for all she's worth before she continued with her task. Whispering a little louder this time. "Miss, wake up. It's almost morning."

Finally, the woman blinked sleepy green eyes at her. She startled, jumping on her chair. Her whole body instantly jerked towards the patient, eyes flashing with panic. Cora immediately calmed her down,

 "Hey, everything's alright, sweetie. He's fine. I'm sorry I woke you."

 She sat up straighter and retracted her hand. "Good morning. I'm sorry. What time is it?"

"It's 8 minutes to 5:30."

 

 

"Oh. I should be going." But she made no move from her chair.

 Nurse Cora listed his vitals on her clipboard when the woman interrupted, her voice small,

"Why won't he wake up?"

Cora knew the woman wasn't around when the doctors gave their diagnostics. It was always the elderly couple and Indian man in presence. The nurse gave her a compassionate and assuring smile.

 "He's in a trauma, dear. Sometimes when people hit their head, they suffer unconsciousness for days. But I can tell you that he's gonna be okay. He's been responding very well to his treatments. He's going to be ok. You have a fighter, there."

The woman sighed and nodded "I noticed you're the nurse checking up on him every night…"

"Yes, that's correct." She stood at the end of the bed, tucked the clipboard on her side and regarded the worried woman.

"I'm leaving in a few days for a business deal, one I can't get out off. This is asking too much and I don't know if this is against hospital regulations but can I leave you my number? In case…he woke up?"

Nurse Cora smiled at her timidness. "Of course."

The lady wrote her number on a scratch of paper and handed it to her. "Thank you so much for what you're all doing here."

"Oh, no worries. This is us thanking him for all the charity he gave the hospital." Cora beamed, pocketing the piece of paper inside her scrubs.

 "Yeah, he does that from time to time." She gazed down the patient, her face blooming as she spoke before she stretched a slender hand to introduced herself. "I'm Claire Dearing by the way."

 "I'm Cora. Nice meeting you, Miss Dearing."

"Call me Claire."

"Claire. Right, well, I'll leave you to it. Don't worry, I'll keep you posted." She said, tapping the pocket of her uniform.

 

 

"Yes. Thank you. I still hope I didn't get you into trouble. With me staying and all." She turned a telltale shade of red.

"Oh, not at all." Cora chuckled.

Even though she was lacking a good night sleep, her smile brightened her face. "And I never personally thanked you for the chair. Thank you again, Cora."

"No worries. I'll see you tonight, Claire." Cora walked away and only turned to close the door when she saw Claire standing beside him. Her lips pressed on the man's forehead. With closed eyes, she murmured against his skin,

 "Please. Wake up."

* * *

 She was nearly done.

 If she could just decide whether bringing a blazer to a Central American country a wise decision.

Claire took a sip of water as she studied the luggage full of clothes on her bed. Grappling with the idea if leaving the country was another wise decision too.

 

 

On top of her desk, her phone vibrated and she almost caught her feet on the carpet trying to get it.

"Zara!" She answered breathlessly.

 "Claire, are you ok? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. At my place. Packing. Why?" She replied, popping her foot up to massage the toe she hit.

"I just called to remind you that your flight's in 5 hours tonight, Delta Airlines, Business class, Gate 3B."

 

 

 She grabbed the ticket from her nightstand, reading it, "Yes, I got it. Thank you."

 "Are you done packing yet? Anything else I can get you?"

 "All good. Thank you, Zara." and added "It'll only be a couple of days. Once Malcolm has signed the contract, I'll be on the next available flight back home."

  "No, take your time. This is an important deal. Besides, Lowery and Zia are here, keeping Antonio and Mills in check. You don't have to worry about anything."

 She hesitated, unconvinced. "Ok. But if something goes wrong, you have to tell me right away. I don't care if you woke me up from sleep. You call me ok?"

"Yes boss. Oh, and your hotel and car rental are all ready at the resort. A resort representative will pick you up at the airport and go with you in the ferry."

"Great. Thank you again, Zara." She balanced the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she put her boarding pass inside her purse.

"And one more thing." she could hear the excitement in her voice.

 "What's that?" Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"Mind the door."

Before she could question her any further, Zara hung up, "Have a safe flight, Claire!"

She didn't have time to think about it because the doorbell rang. The sound vibrating from all the corners of her apartment

Claire was never the clingy kind. She made sure that her feelings were always kept at bay. But she had been through so much this past week that once she opened the door, she flung herself at her guest.

"I'm so glad to see you." Claire croaked, her voice breaking as her arms tightened around her visitor.

"I came in as soon as I can. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Claire. Are you ok?" came her visitor's reply, confounded by Claire's sudden vulnerability.

 _No._ But she nodded, nonetheless.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?" She pulled back and released her embrace, leading them to her couch in the living room.

Karen Mitchel (recently Karen Dearing again) plopped down the sofa and stretched boot-cladded feet on the ottoman. The light blue eyes she inherited from her mother took in her younger sister. Mindful of the change in her composure. The youngest Dearing moved to the kitchen to prepare them refreshments and snacks while Karen made herself comfortable. "We're supposed to have lunch today, remember?" she reminded her, smiling.

 

 

Claire's eyes widened in realization. "Shit." The pitcher in her hands made a cluttering sound against the solid surface.

"Are you losing your touch, baby sis?" Karen smirked, tucking her leg below the other leg, her fingers stroking her hair.

 

 

"I'm sorry, I forgot. It's just, there's been a lot going on lately." She handed her the glass, feeling dreadful that she stood up her own sister.

"Yeah, I know." Karen took a sip from her glass and placed it on the coaster her sister provided. "No worries though, I had an emergency lunch meeting with an old client."

Karen was working as a general practice lawyer in Wisconsin before and after she married. And only came to visit whenever she has to attend conferences and meet up with her firm's clients. The Dearing sisters rarely see each other (with the youngest one's inclination to her independence). Countless of times, Claire had postponed their dates. Though, none if it were intentional, of course. Claire loved her sister, nosiness and all.

 

 

 "I'll make it up to you. I swear it this time. I'll clear my schedule. How long are staying?"

"Two days. Then I'll be back next week for another conference." Karen replied, removing her footwear.

"I don't know why you think you can't stay here. I have room." Claire suggested, looking around to emphasize her point.

 

 

Karen knew her sister and she's probably the best at it. She knew how Claire treasured her aloneness. That even herself -Claire's only sister- knew her distance and limitations. Still, Karen respected her so much for it. So, if Claire was offering her precious solitude for a little company. her younger must be beside herself.

"Are you ok now? I mean, after what happened?" Karen began, edging closer to her. "Talk to me Claire-bear."

 

"I am."

Karen pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows at her sister's. An unspoken, Oh, really?

With a defeated air, Claire let out a deep sigh and summarized the past days. There was no point in getting out of this one, so she told her sister everything. Skipping the part where she'd been sleeping for the past week lest her overexcited sister rub it the wrong way. Which her sister always did.

Karen consoled her and almost lost it when she heard Mills' name again. She listened with perked ears. She noted (with a happy thought) that the Claire she grew up with was still there but something has changed.

When their parents divorced, it took a huge toll on both of them- especially Claire. Her sister became aloof, persistent in keeping everybody out and away from arm's reach. Trying to prove to anyone that she can bear and solve the world's problems all on her own. 

 

 

And yet, the Claire in front of her now reminded her when she was 10 and Claire, 8. All russet-colored pigtail braids, oversized glasses, dusty freckles and dirty hands. Karen decided she missed and liked this version more.

"So now, I have to go to Costa Rica because of that deal. I'm figuring out whether to bring a jacket and… Why are you smiling like that?" Her face furrowed with bewilderment at her sister.

 

"You like this Owen." Karen teased, pushing Claire with her pointer finger.

 "What? No!" She frowned, disapproving. "Seriously? That's what you get from what I said?"

 

 

"Well, I knew most of it from reading the papers and Zara. But they definitely left out the juicy bits and hearing you talk the way that you did about him is…very intriguing."

"I don't like him." She hissed. "Besides, he's my boss." Finally saying it out loud, made her frown even more.

"Why would that stop you?" Her sister arched her groomed eyebrows at her. "Unless-"

 Claire felt her neck grow hot and focused on something rather than her sister.

 "-It didn't… Why Claire Dearing!" Karen squealed, eyes gleaming with pride and joy. "You had sex!"

"I don't see the relevance of any of this." Claire recuperated in poor attempt. Neither admitting nor denying anything.

"You did sleep together! You sly fox!" Her sister cupped a hand on her mouth, cackling.

 "And you're overreacting." She squinted her eyes at her sister. The offer of letting her stay expiring by the minute.

"Because! My little sister deserves to be happy and have fun and have hot and kinky sex. I bet he's sexy. I know sex-aaaay when I heard it. So?"

 

 

"I have to finish packing." She stood up, uncomfortable where this conversation was going. Besides she needed to be at the airport an hour early. And drop by the hospital before that. 

"I love this Owen already!" Karen followed her to the bedroom, a skippy beat to her every step. "Give me deets!"

"I've slept with other people before, you know." She pointed out, getting her heels from the walk in closet.

"I know but I bet not with one like him." Karen teased, peering at her from the bedroom doorway.

She scoffed as a reply.

 

 

"Am I right?" Karen winked at her, elbows propped against the doorway as she finally close the lid of her luggage.

 "No." She sneered and avoided her eyes, stubborn through and through.

* * *

 

 

 

Thick layers of sunscreen and light blazer protected her sensitive and luminescent skin. The change in weather from clement to hot wasn't exactly disagreeable. The cobblestones and pavement were wet from the light morning rain. Thus, spoiling the early outdoor activities of some guests. A gust of wind emitted by the trees provided a fresh humid breeze among the throng of people going back and forth. A cloudless, azure blue sky ascended over them as the sun bathed the whole island in one golden halo.

Absent-minded Claire watched the crowd dressed in their swimming gears and bikinis. Her mind somewhere else other than the paradise she was currently in. She sat on the canopy stripped umbrella of a place called Margaritaville- a cocktail bar and the only less crowded place at this hour.

 

 

 The meeting with the supervisors ended an hour ago. Meetings were a good, fair distraction. She thought, not for the first time. But with two hours to spare until the next one, Claire's anxiousness was back in overdrive. She checked her phone, laptop every now and then for a new email or phone call that might help her with all her worry. But with the time difference in the busiest parts of the world, she wasn't betting on it.

 

 

Zara's doing an exemplary job at being her assistant, as per usual. She's been updating her every now and then about the happenings at GC. All her emails, calls and messages already answered for. Leaving Claire with nothing else to do. "It's taken care of, we got this, Claire." was her assistant's reassurance. Lowery and Zia alternated calling her as well, keeping her up to date with Antonio.

 

 

 

Claire anticipated that one of them might mention something, anything about their CEO. None of them did. Until she finally asked Zia during her second day at the resort. 

 

 

> _"Any news on… at the hospital?" She asked, looking at the loaded breakfast served before her. Her lack of appetite apparent._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _"I spoke with the doctors and saw his chart this evening. He's looking pretty good, all his vitals are great and back to normal but they still can't say why he won't wake up. All the wires from his body removed. The resuscitator and everything. Only the heart monitor and IV remained. He's getting there, Claire. Slowly but surely. "_

 

On her third night, she sprung from the bed. Sweaty and out of breath. Clutching her heart as if to keep it from sprinting out of her chest. She had another dream of the accident and it ended up the same grave way it always did. She called Cora, the nurse she befriended, and asked him how he was. Much to her looming worry, the nurse told her what Zia said.

Maybe, she shouldn't have come. Maybe she could ask a representative to let Ian Malcolm know they could meet halfway the country. Have him signed the releasing papers entitling Grady Corp. as the new owner of Casa Cielo Resorts.

Snap out of it Claire! She repeated to herself. Focus. Breathe in. Breathe out. She only had three days left for all the orientations and legalization process. It couldn't be that bad.

 "I hope this seat isn't taken."

 

 

A shadow fell in front of her table. Claire looked up to find a tall man. Silver streaks peppered his dark hair. A pair of hipster lenses rested on his pointed, roman nose and sallow cheeks. He had deep-set eyes and a wide, amiable smile. The man was wearing a sun visor, a floral button up shirt and pair of swimming shorts on his slender frame. He settled two glasses of what appears to be some kind mixture of something green and orange on the table in front of her.

"Ah, for a minute there I thought I'll trip. I can't spill these babies. I spent my entire morning on them. Wew!" He exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips. "You definitely look like the Claire Dearing everybody's been talking about."

Claire continued staring at the stranger.

"Oh! Where are my manners? I am Ian. Ian Malcolm." The man extend a hand to her as Claire stood up and gripped his hand.

"Mr. Malcolm. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. It's a pleasure."

 

 

"Please, it's Ian. Sit down, sit down." Waving his hands down for her to reoccupy her seat.

"Ah! So how was your stay so far? I trust my staff are attending to your needs?" He said, pulling his drink towards him.

"Yes. Everything's great." Claire stated as she closed her laptop and started pulling out the papers from the meeting. "Your secretary showed me the satisfaction rates from the last two months and-"

"No, no, no. I didn't mean that in a business sense. No." He chuckled. "I meant, are you having fun? Are you relaxing yourself?" He shook his shoulders, smiling again at her.

"Oh, uhm. Yes. I've never seen anything like it. The view from my room is amazing. Thank you again for that." she replied, finally taking in the flurry of activities around her. The verdant color of life with its picturesque landscapes and beachfront views.

Malcolm Land Group utilized a good ¼ size of the whole island to build a family resort and theme park. Right behind the lineup of restaurants and novelty stores was a village of tiny cottages. A hotel building erected opposite those villas for individuals who preferred modern living. It also boasted well-functioning park rides, infinity pools and gigantic slides.

 Claire remembered that some of the board members at headquarters were hesitant. That was before Owen pulled up the numbers and persuaded them.

Knowing Owen, she knew he wasn't about the money when he decided to buy this land. And it took the beach-front view from her hotel room to prove her correct. It was then, Claire finally understood his profound love for nature. The island was paradise, a getaway. Perfect vacation and holiday spot. If only she could enjoy it.

"Well, we thought you might need a change in scenery." Ian happily sipped his drink.

"Grady Corp's gonna take care what you have here Sir. We're not gonna change a thing you might not be comfortable with. I'll make sure of it. Besides, everything is perfect the way it is." She promised, sincere with every word.

"Oh, I don't have a single doubt that. My godson knows what he's doing. Owen is his father son, I wouldn't expect nothing less. I heard great things about you too. This resort would be in good hands." He leaned on the backrest and crossed his legs, a hint of confidence in his voice.

 

 

"Your godson?"

"Yeah! Simon Masrani and I share the duty in wiping the dirt off his chin from time to time." Ian nodded. He was stirring his drink, trying to catch the slice of lemon that settled at the bottom of his glass.

"You mean, Owen? He's your godson?" She asked, leaning forward in her seat.

"Hmmm. I know right!" He chortled, his eyes blazing with humour. "I can tell you so many embarrassing stories about him to pass the time. Where is that boy anyway?"

The mere mention of him felt like someone kicked her in the stomach and stomp her in the chest. The root of her anxiety presenting itself once again. Of course, Ian never knew. How could he? For all she knew, this island deflects all kinds of negativity. Her heart broke a little that this innocent, gullible man didn't know what happened to Owen and the danger he was in.

"Is he coming?"

 

 

Claire paused. She watched him finished the rest of his cold drink in one long sip as she thought of a smooth way to break it to him. As gently as she could.

"Mr. Malcolm, I don't know how to say this but-"

 "Oh! Oh! Brain freeze!" He shouted, tilting his head up and pressing the sides of his nose. Claire stared at him, gathering up the courage to talk about it again.

When he recovered, "Anyway, you two should come for the small staff party my wife's throwing tomorrow night."

"Mr. Malcolm, he isn't-" Claire choked, feeling as if a cotton has been stuck on her throat. "He isn't-"

"Why aren't you drinking? Drink! Drink! I made it myself." Ian repeated in a proud, singsong voice, pushing Claire's drink nearer her.

Maybe she really shouldn't have come. Maybe this really was a bad idea. She should have let Lowery took over. Suddenly, she can't breathe. Her mind clouding with worry, her hands got clammy. She gripped the armchair with white knuckles as she tried to ease her fast and shallow breaths. Claire looked at her idle phone, praying that somebody relieve her of her anxiety.

"…Which is why you don't wanna drink that." A deep, husky voice remarked from behind her. Making the little hairs on her neck bristle in familiarity.

She turned her head and felt her stomach did a somersault… jumped of a cliff… skydived off an airplane... plummeted down, down, down.

"Ian insists that he has killer bartending skills."

She let out an audible gasp and stood up abruptly. The metal made a protesting sound on the cement as she pushed it back. Her thigh hit the table with a sting and her hand landed on the table to support her shudder. Ian was looking at her as he sipped his drink, curious. Yet, she didn't care.

 

 

With one good hand, he dragged the woven bistro chair beside her. His dazed, green eyes never leaving hers, his lips in that upward smirk she pretended not to think about.

 

 

"Miss me, Dearing? Of course you did." Owen Grady greeted with terrible, obvious amusement.

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> die Angst is a German translation of Fear. I used Google translate on this. If there are any Germans reading this or anybody who knows how to speak German, correct me if, I’m wrong. 
> 
> Ohhhhh!! Our boy is back! I bet you saw that coming? ;) as you may know by now, i’m not an angst writer, so I couldn’t bear it on myself to leave this chapter on a sad note. Also, I love Jeff Goldblum. His character in Thor Ragnarok was the inspiration for this version of our beloved Mathematician. I hope you weren't confused with the timeline in this story. 
> 
> I'm kinda hesitant writing a vulnerable Claire but thought to myself, give her a break. She almost died. I'm looking forward to Claire finally accepting her feelings. So far, I have no plans how to write it yet. I hope this chapter made sense. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and your lovely comments of encouragement!!! Tell me what do you think of this one. Please, correct me for any errors or anything else I've missed. ;)


	10. Fight or Flight

**FIGHT or FLIGHT**

the instinctive physiological response to a threatening situation, which readies one either to resist forcibly or to run away.

  
 

* * *

 

 _The day before_  

   
 

He’s screwed.  

   
 

Ian Malcolm was standing by the window shed of his cabin, looking down at the indoor plants. Though the row of succulents in their terracotta pots was beyond saving, he watered them in vain. Still hopeful that they might revive themselves. Last year, His grandchildren had flown on the island for his birthday so they could give them these. Unaware of the hint their mom was telling them not to give 'Pops' another plant for his birthday. They were already low-maintenance plants, he thought to himself. And only but require a little sun and water and yet, he still managed to kill them. Then again, he could always blame the changing weather on the island. Although, he wasn't sure anyone would believe that since he had hasten the doom of a dozen of plants already.  

   
 

There was nothing to loathe about the Costa Rican weather though. No matter how unpredictable it may be. For him and his wife, Sarah, who decided to live on the island, it was pure nirvana. The sun-drenched weather would basked the peak hours of the day but would pour rain and thunder after. Some days he thought the rain would never stop, some days it would be hot as the Sahara dessert . Be that as it may, the business was still good.  

   
 

They enjoyed lazy and quiet afternoon days such as this. There was something charming about... having nothing else to do. Well, besides arranging photo albums or in his case, drowning helpless house plants.  

   
 

The harmonious hum of an old record was playing in the background when his phone interrupted his task.  

   
 

 _He smiled when he saw the caller ID. “Looky here, looky here. Am I supposed to call you ‘Sir’ now?”_  

   
 

 _“Hell no.” The person on the other line’s laugh vibrated on the speaker._  

   
 

 _"Just so. I wouldn't 'Sir' a kid who used to eat mud because he thought it was chocolate."_  

   
 

 _Another laugh echoed on the other line, “How are you, Ian?”_  

   
 

 _“Splendid. Splendid.” he picked up the watering can and continued with his hopeless duty._  

   
 

 _“Listen, I know I told you I’ll be there a week ago. I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. Something…uh came up. But I’ll be there as soon as I can. I just have to check on someone.”_  

   
 

 _“It’s fine, it's fine. Where are you anyway? Why are you not with the lady who’s scaring my staff?”_  

   
 

 _“Claire?” He asked in a surprised, gruff voice. “She’s there?”_  

   
 

 _“Well, yeah. Been here for almost a week now. I still haven’t seen her though. Why does your voice sound like you ate sandpaper? You’re not starving, are you?”_  

   
 

 _He wasn't always around the bay when the kid was growing up but Ian knew how Grady men were- having grown up with one. He knew Grady men never lose their composure. You could never hear them raise their voice or lose their patience. It would be a rare and rather elating opportunity for him when one fell out of that pattern. So, imagine Ian's sudden delight when the kid solidified his voice over the phone. “What the hell is she doing there?!”_  

   
 

 _“Uh-oh. Is this a lover’s quarrel?” He smiled at the mouthpiece._  

   
 

 _Ian heard a shuffling in the background and the sound of something heavy dropping on the floor. “Where are you?"_  

   
 

 _“I’m calling from the hospital. They uh…just released me.”_  

   
 

 _Ian paused from his errand, his tone patriarchal and sober at once. Although the boy worked for the navy, survived near-death experiences, Ian knew nothing could ever wane his worry. He had treated the boy as his own at first look at his chubby little toddler legs. “What? Why? What happened?”_  

   
 

 _“I’ll tell you when I get there.”_  

   
 

 _Ian knew that was the end of the conversation. “Ok but are you sure you’re okay now?”_  

   
 

 _“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. Thank you, Ian.”_  

   
 

 _“I’ll ready the helipad.” before he added, “and I’ll be making the refreshments.” A hint of playful anticipation in his tone._  

   
 

 _“God. No.” Owen’s tortured chuckle rang on the line._  

   
 

Ian cancelled all his appointments for the next three days to spend time with his best friend’s son. It was also a fitting time to welcome him as the resort’s new owner. He was not present when Owen’s plane landed on the hotel building’s helipad that morning. For he, as he said before, was making drinks.  

   
 

He wasn't a bad uncle. He was the cool one. That's what he though when he, in a very subtle manner, gave Owen the drink. The drink he's been prepping ever since this morning. Owen declined though. He said that because of his hospitalisation, he's only permitted to drink water. Ian no longer insisted. With which Owen seemed relieved, not liking the sight of the bubbling liquid at all.  

   
 

After their lengthy morning chat of the past events, Ian offered him a tour on their new spa rooms- if he wasn't too tired. But Owen refused, saying he wanted to take a quick nap first. Ian then left him have his rest before calling his assistant to ask the whereabouts of a certain redhead.  

   
 

She was everything they defined her to be. The woman, as described in those loud whispers, was keen, ingenious and confident in every way. From her fiery red hair up to the tip of her stiletto. Though, there was a certain uneasiness about her. He couldn't point out what it is. Until he saw it exponentially grow behind her eyes when the subject of their discussion finally presented himself.  

   
 

Ian bit his straw as he looked at the two adults goggling at each other. Neither one backing down. Neither wanted to.  

   
 

“Well, as entertaining as this is, watching you two gawk at each other like long, lost lovers. Do sit down children.” he interrupted.  

   
 

One could only count the moments Claire Dearing was dumbstruck and speechless. And this -with the humid air around them standing still, her teary eyes on his- was definitely one of them.  

   
 

Claire had never felt more life-altering relief her entire life. Like the weight of the entire world had lifted from her shoulders, carrying her to a cloud of bliss and safety.  

   
 

Nor blinding, teeth-gnashing, headache-inducing, hair-gripping fury.  

   
 

“We’re going to the clinic.” She demanded, breaking eye contact and gathering her things with trembling hands. Owen replied with a clever comeback but she didn’t hear him past the blare pounding in her feverish ears.  

   
 

“I’m driving. Let’s go.” She said, earning another stubborn protest from him. She ignored him and managed a smile at Ian “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I'm sorry that we have to go."  

   
 

Ian beamed at her and she hoped that the nod he gave her was in understanding. “Please. Go, go. I’ll see you kids later.”  

   
 

“Will you save my drink for me?” she asked, an honest request and saw his face light up at her appreciation.  

   
 

“Oh, I will!” before he added, turning to Owen this time. “I’ll come by later at your place.”  

   
 

“Claire-” Owen began again.  

   
 

“Let’s go Grady.” She sneered with clenched teeth, still avoiding his eyes.  

   
 

With her pulse racing like a freight train, she stomped out. As if digging her heels on the deck would help her sort out the emotions of both terror and anger. Her only focus and the only thing keeping her upright, as of the moment, was him. And how she needed him resting on a bed, safe and sound.  

   
 

When she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, she stopped and turned around. Claire met his weary eyes again and for the first time in over two weeks studied his appearance.  

   
 

A two-week stubble had grown back, reaching the top of his neck and once again darkening his features. He lost a little weight around his cheeks as well, accentuating his chiseled oval face. The wounds he detained, had healed and were nothing but faded scratches around his cheeks. His brunet hair had grown, the edges curling underneath his cap. She remembered how it felt as her fingers combed through it one bad night at the hospital. She took comfort that the bandage covering his forearm was new and neat. And yet, the beige polo shirt he was wearing was thin enough to confirm her suspicions of a gauze underneath. She felt her fury returned and heightened, almost blurring her vision. Her insides were shaking but she still managed to say,  

   
 

“Don’t make me say it twice, Mr. Grady.” Keeping it polite as possible for Ian’s sake.  

   
 

“For heaven’s sake man.” Ian exclaimed with a universal 'Go' hand gesture.  

   
 

Owen sighed and shuffled the hair on his nape. "See you later, Ian."  

   
 

When she was sure he would follow, she turned her back again and fetch the car keys from inside her purse.  

   
 

“Let me carry this for you.” He jogged beside her, tapping the strap on her shoulder.  

   
 

“No.” She deadpanned, icy and furious still.  

   
 

“Well then, let me drive. I can drive.”  

   
 

Ignoring him, she marched across the street to where she parked the borrowed vehicle. Keys dug on the palm of her hand, her heels kept making dull, scraping noises on the pavement. These small, tedious noises prevented her from completely losing it and breaking down. Claire felt more than heard his footfalls when he came up beside her again to open the car door.  

   
 

“Here, allow me.” he smiled like he did nothing wrong.  

   
 

She glared at him and entered the car without another word.  

   
 

They took a longer route to avoid the throng of people on the streets. She was grateful that Owen couldn’t bring himself to be his usual chatty self. It gave her a fair time to recompose herself and calm her nerves.  

   
 

From the corner of her eye, she could see him staring out the window. He was smiling as they passed the boulevard crowded with people. He sighed as they passed the thicket of forest trees. He liked it here, she could tell. I mean, why wouldn’t he? The island shouted comfort and simplicity. Much like the ambience of that farmhouse he kept to himself deep and past the suburbs of the city. It reminded her of the morning he drove her after spending the night, which now felt like a lifetime ago.  

   
 

The drive back to her stranded car was also quiet though it was nowhere near awkward. A part of her wanted to break the silence and word by word remind him that it mustn't happen again. Workmates should never sleep with each other. It was in the basic office etiquette handbook. It was inappropriate and most importantly against her better judgment. Though, a fainter and scarier part of her contradicted. But once and for all, she dismissed it upon noticing how he avoided her eyes when he dropped her off. She didn't need another affirmation that he regretted it but to admit that it didn't sting would be a lie.  

   
 

"How are you?" Owen suddenly asked in the softest voice she ever heard him speak, bringing her back from her reverie.  

   
 

She didn't reply and kept her focus on the road.  

   
 

“Are you okay?” He initiated again in that soft voice of his.  

   
 

A sudden, unfamiliar urge sprouted, burning her throat and making her eyes feel hot.  

   
 

“Okay. I’ll talk... So, get this." angling in his seat so he could face her. "I almost had a heart attack when I woke up.” he began, chuckling.  

   
 

Her calmness shattered as she brashly stepped on the break pads. She felt her chest heaved again, the small space of the car threatening to suck her remaining oxygen. “You had a heart attack?!” She shouted at him, fighting off tears.  

   
 

“Figuratively! Figuratively!” He amended, throwing his palms up.  

   
 

She closed her eyes and inhaled one deep breath. Offering but a moment to control her emotions.  

   
 

“Claire, let me drive.” He offered again. She could feel his eyes on her.  

   
 

“No.”  

   
 

Her hands shook as she changed the gear to Drive again. If he thought him being here would dissuade her anxiety, he was wrong. They were nearing their destination when he spoke again, edging closer to the console. Closer to her.  

   
 

"Claire, I'm s-"  

   
 

"We're here." she cut off. The car finally screeched to a halt, spraying earth everywhere.  

   
 

The clinic center stood between the car race-track and a souvenir store. Tourists swarmed the sunny sidewalk at the other side as Claire locate a shaded spot. She found the space reserved for the PWD and parked there, earning another word of protest from Owen.  

   
 

She slammed the door on her way out, cutting him off again. Owen made no move not until she went to his side and opened the door for him.  

   
 

“Up.” She ordered, one hand on the door to support her. Eyes focusing on the driver’s side.  

   
 

"This is a total waste of time, Claire."  

   
 

"Get out." she repeated, finally squaring her eyes with his.  

   
 

"And I'm not disabled." he complained, offended.  

   
 

"You will be if you didn't get out in the next minute."  

   
 

He rotated on his seat and faced her again. The trace of mischievousness back again. "Aww. Your concern is so very touching Miss Dearing."  

   
 

"Get out of the car Owen or I swear to God. I would drag you out myself.”  

   
 

He shrugged and winked at her. "I’ve always liked strong women."  

   
 

She puffed out an impatient air.  

   
 

"I’ve had enough of bandages and antiseptics. Besides, I'm fine. And they look worse than I do." He titled his chin on the kids with bleeding arms walking towards the door of clinic.  

   
 

"You're not going anywhere unless someone checked you first." her patience already wearing thin.  

   
 

"I don't need a doctor. The doctors and nurse at home wouldn't allow me to leave if they thought I wasn't-"  

   
 

"Get. Out. Of. The. Fucking. Car." she said in a low voice, emphasising every word. "Now!"  

   
 

"Okay! Okay! Jeez!" he stepped down and out, looking scandalised. "I'm out. Now what?"  

   
 

Claire grabbed the end of his sleeve and pulled him towards the pathway. Leaving him no choice but to fall with her every step. And certainly didn't notice the goofy smile plastered on his face. Saying - without words- how much he missed her.  

   
 

* * *

 

 

For an hour Claire sat at the lounge area of the clinic and stared at the door where Owen disappeared into. She left a message for Nurse Cora to get the story straight from her, but the nurse wasn't answering her phone. When the door opened, she stood from her seat. It revealed an austere middle-aged asian man dressed in a laboratory white gown, a clip board in his hand. Behind him, an annoyed-looking Owen who was now sporting a shoulder and arm sling on his left arm.  

   
 

The doctor was straight-forward and didn't waste time as he explained what Owen needed. He trailed behind her, silent as a mute as she surrendered the prescription to the pharmacist. His wounds needed thorough cleaning twice a day. One in the morning and during the evening. He had to take antibiotics, pain relievers and place a hot compress on his arm. All of which he had no problem with. Until, came the issue of the medical sling brace.  

   
 

He didn’t protest when she asked him where he was staying and they drove in peace. Or, at least, she did. He was fussing over the sling on his arm, mumbling complaints until she had enough of it.  

   
 

“Cut it out!” She reprimanded, breaking the silence and giving him another annoyed glance.  

   
 

“It’s irritating and it’s gonna crease all my shirts.” He complained, loosening the wrap on his chest a little bit.  

   
 

“Since when do you care about your clothes? You wear un-ironed and dirty shirts at the office for crying out loud!”  

   
 

“They’re not dirty! They're off white, there's a difference. But glad to confirm, you were checking me out.”  

   
 

"I’ve seen better." She lied.  

   
 

Owen didn’t bother to repress his laughter this time. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart...Turn left here. The one with the Sangria signage, that’s mine.”  

   
 

The cozy little cabin stood far apart the identical shacks of the village. The banana trees on either side hiding it from view. Old and rustic wooden planks made up the cabin's walls and flooring. On the small porch were two metal patio chairs and a portable fireplace between them. Round fairy lights hung from the porch's raftered ceiling. A motorcycle at the corner.  

   
 

They both got out and she rounded the backseat to gather the brown bags the pharmacist gave her. Walking to his side of the car, she stood in front of him.  

   
 

"Right, Owen. Listen up." he stopped fibbing with the shoulder strap for a second and looked at her.  

   
 

"These are your medicines. You need to take them at a certain time. No delays, not earlier. On time. Okay?"  

   
 

His eyebrows scrunched together as he read it. "What is that supposed to say?"  

   
 

"Your medicine schedule, instructions how to disinfect your wounds. Here." She handed the paper to him.  

   
 

"Yeah, I know that. I mean, what the heck is this handwriting?" The fold between his eyebrows deepened, his eyes skimming the sentences with difficulty.  

   
 

"What are you talking about, it's completely readable."  

   
 

"It looked like a herd of hens had raked their claws at it."  

   
 

"Why am I not surprised." she droned, "Here." snatching the paper from him and pointing the first step of his medications.  

   
 

"Clean your wounds with disinfectant. The disinfectant is the bottle with the blue label. Then apply the anti-bacterial. The anti-bacterial is the yellow one." She stepped closer to him, his neck leaning down as he read with her. "Whatever you do, do not use the tap water outside. All rooms and cabins here have filtered water. So use it."  

   
 

He nodded.  

   
 

"Then you need to drink your antibiotics at 7pm tonight, every night for the next five days. So, you have to eat your dinner before that time. Give me the bag, I’ll show you."  

   
 

"As much as I like standing under this weather, can we do this inside? I'm parched."  

   
 

She followed him up the front porch steps and inside. She laid out the medicines in a neat pile on the island bar separating the kitchen from the living room. When she looked up to lecture him again, she saw him removing the sling support on his arm. The velcro making a loud, scratching sound that was enough to make her skin crawl.  

   
 

"What the hell are you doing?!"  

   
 

“It's itchy. And it's hot.” he griped, eyeing the black arm aid with distaste.  

   
 

"I don't fucking care. Put it back Owen!" She slid down the high chair and walked over the fridge where he was standing.  

   
 

“I don’t wanna wear the stupid sling."  

   
 

“Stop being so childish. You heard the doctor, you're supposed to wear this for the next two weeks!” She grabbed the arm support lying abandoned by the microwave.  

   
 

"When did he say that?" he asked, a clueless look looming over his face, making her almost want to throw the sling at it.  

   
 

"You were there in the room!"  

   
 

"I got distracted." he defended, his gaze darkening as it slowly panned down her figure. "When did you last ate?"  

   
 

She glowered her eyes at him.  

   
 

He reached over his side for the fruit stand and offered her an apple. “Here.”  

   
 

"Put it back or I’m gonna throw that to your face."  

   
 

He chuckled and stood up straighter. "Let's eat! Come on! I saw the new Japanese restaurant. We can walk."  

   
 

“No. You need to lie down and rest.” She watched him in disbelief as he walked pass her and grabbed his house keys from the opposite counter.  

   
 

“Hang on. Let me change my shirt, though.”  

   
 

"I’ve had enough of this!" she fetched her phone from her pocket and speed-dialling his assistant's number. That made him stop on his tracks.  

   
 

"Claire?" Lowery answered in a groggy voice. "Everything all right?"  

   
 

"I don’t know what you guys were thinking. But buy a plane ticket for Owen back to California, right now.”  

   
 

"What are you talking about?” he yawned. “Owen’s _in_ California."  

   
 

"What?"  

   
 

"He's still at the hospital, Claire. There isn't much news. I'm sorry I didn't call you yesterday."  

   
 

She stiffened, unwanted facts dawning on her. She locked eyes with Owen who was looking remorseful than a sinner on church. “He's here. Owen’s fucking here.”  

   
 

“What! Like in Costa Rica? With you?"  

   
 

"Yes.” she breathed through gritted teeth and balled fists.  

   
 

"Since when? What the hell, man! He's ok? He woke up? I'm gonna call Zia. She's gonna flip."  

   
 

Claire's voice dropped to a menacing sound. "Lowery, book him the next available flight. Pick him up at the airport and pin his annoying ass on an IV. Make sure he rests. If you had to chain him up to his bed. Do it."  

   
 

"Right, right. On it. I'll text you the details."  

   
 

After she hung up the phone, “You're going home. Right now. Pack your things." Their eyes met over the threshold in a determined contest.  

   
 

"Why?"  

   
 

"What do you mean why?! You need proper rest! The next ferry will leave in 30 minutes. I’ll ride it with you."  

   
 

"I need rest? What? And you don't?"  

   
 

She moved over the counter again to pack his medications, not bothering to reply.  

   
 

"I'm staying here til we finish the job." he added and what felt like a slap in her face. She turned around to face him, narrowing her eyes.  

   
 

"You think, I can't do it by myself?"  

   
 

"On the contrary, Miss Dearing.” He stood opposite her, half-sitting on the backrest of the couch. “You know, I never doubted you.”  

   
 

"Then what the hell is your problem? You're leaving. End of story."  

   
 

"No, I am not." He shook his head, pouting his bottom lip. “Not happening.”  

   
 

"Oh yes, it is!"  

   
 

"I'm not going anywhere. That's final." He repeated with an air of determination, crossing his arms in front of him.  

   
 

"Gah! Do you find pleasure on being such a pain in the ass every single time? You ran away! What the hell are you thinking, coming here!"  

   
 

"Now that you asked-"  

   
 

"It's a rhetorical question!" she frowned.  

   
 

"Well, you shouldn’t have said that in a questioning voice.” He mumbled.  

   
 

“You’re ridiculous! This shit is not funny anymore!"  

   
 

"What are you shouting at me for? I didn't do anything!” Owen defended. 

   
 

"You didn't- you didn't do anything? Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me! You're here! That's what you did! When you should be staying at the hospital!"  

   
 

He stared at her for what it felt like a full minute before a smile broke his face.  

   
 

"Aww. You're giving me butterflies here, Claire." His palms crossed over his heart. The bandaged left wrist almost mocking her.  

   
 

"You. Are such. An asshole! I don't know why I even to bothered to try!” she laughed, without a trace of humour.  

   
 

"I'm fine, Claire. No big deal. Only few scratches. It'll heal. All fine. See?" he stretched and unfolded his left arm in front of her, indicating how "fine" he was. The action making her burst even more. All the fright, rage, and guilt she had been feeling came pouring out in one arduous tirade of emotions.  

   
 

"You're fine? You're fine! Bullshit Owen! The last time you said that to me you ended up three weeks at the hospital. I saw you bleed to death and there was nothing else I can do. One week and you were barely alive! You had no idea what I've been... what I've been through! Do you know how... how it fucking felt! If Zara... if Zara didn't... If she didn't come on time... " she stammered, her breathing coming up short.  

   
 

Her chest tightened again, blackness creeping from the corner of her eyes. With a staggering step, she fell down the barstool and held a hand on her stomach. Nausea overtaking her.  

   
 

The next thing she knew, she was staring at his sobered face. His wide hazel green eyes pulling her out the abyss. He sighed. “I know how trauma works, Claire. I’m sorry that I put you through that. But you can talk to me.”  

   
 

"Please go... go... go home." She stuttered.  

   
 

As tender as he spoke, he held her chin between his fingers, “ I'm going if you're going.”  

   
 

She held the hand caressing her cheek and squeezed, regaining steady, gradual breaths. His free thumb, rubbing circles on her skin then her lip which then had ceased its trembling.  

   
 

He looked even more exhausted. Claire decided she didnt like that look on him. Not a single bit. She wanted him teasing, flirting or angry at her. Not worried.  

   
 

“Talk to me. Let me in, Claire.” He continued, pushing one stray lock of hair behind her ear.  

   
 

As soon as he said it, she felt, as if, the fog that had engulfed her inner consciousness cleared up. Finally offering her a glimpse of a sunshine of possibilities she evaded her entire life. It was warm, ardent and promising. For a second, she wanted to melt in the safety of his arms and tell him how much he scared her. How much he _was scaring_ her with the intensity of his stares, the warmness of him. But all of a sudden he was too much. Too bright. Too _real_.  

   
 

With one quivering hand, she removed his hand and averted her gaze.  

   
 

“Claire-“  

   
 

"I have to go.” She interjected and left without another glance.  

   
 

* * *

 

   
 

The backyard was already reverberating with life when she finally arrived.  

   
 

It was unusual for Claire to arrive at the middle of the party. She drowned herself with “work” for the last few hours. And by work that meant browsing the web for a new laptop wallpaper. It was a subtle way to tire herself and avoid the party she didn’t feel like participating in. But the host had called her a few times already, telling her that work will still be there tomorrow. The staff party and his self-made drinks wont.  

   
 

After what probably was the fifth call, she gave in. Claire drove for 20 minutes to the outskirts of the park where the Malcolms were living.  

   
 

She could hear the explosions of laughter, conversation and music from the gates. Claire adjusted the straps on her white body-con dress she packed on a whim. “ _Sundress-ed up, Claire. It looks like it’s going to be a hot night._ ” Ian warned. And he was right. Beads of sweat were already rolling down her back. Exhaling one deep sigh, she pushed the old wooden door.  

   
 

After a week of staying on the island, one information topped all other statistics that had lodged itself to her brain. And that was that the Malcolms knew how to throw a proper party.  

   
 

Strings of fairy lights and banderitas of assorted colors hovered above them. Thus, illuminating the cloudless, windless night. The dance floor at the center of the grounds glistened. Surrounding it, were four sets of long tables decorated with tropical plants and colourful vignettes. Tiny Moroccan lamps and bulbs hung above it as well, providing a more bohemian effect. A mariachi band played local songs, entertaining dancing and non-dancing guests alike. It was funny that the only area under a tent was the bar. A painted signage “Drinks on me” embellished its body, luring a handful of guests. From there emerged the flamboyant host and a woman in an off-shoulder floral maxi dress. A camera attached to her hand.  

   
 

“There she is!” Ian shouted above the commotion, making some of the partygoers look in her direction. In his hand were two glasses of what looked like margaritas with slices of lime on the side.  

   
 

He was wearing a short sleeve floral printed shirt and white beach shorts. A wreath of tropical flowers hung around his neck. Ian walked with the copper-haired beauty by his side. Genuine smiles on both their faces.  

   
 

To her shock, when the couple approached her, the woman threw slender arms around her in a tight, bear hug.  

   
 

“You must be Claire! Oh my! I heard so much about you!” The woman squealed before releasing her. “I’m Sarah.”  

   
 

“Honey, this is Claire Dearing, the one and only.” Ian introduced between sips of his drink. “Glad you could join us Claire.”  

   
 

“Thank you. I’m sorry I’m late.”  

   
 

“Nonsense. The party’s just started.” Sarah dismissed, beaming at her.  

   
 

“Food’s over there and open bar’s over there. Anyway, I gotta brag about this to Stan. So, if you could excuse me ladies.” he said, raising and indicating to drinks in his hand. “See ya later honey.” He added, kissing Sarah on the cheek.  

   
 

“I made all the drinks so have as many as you like, eh?” Ian shouted when he was a good distance way, winking at the both of them.  

   
 

“Don’t drink too many though.” Sarah leaned and mumbled to her. “They might seem sweet, but they could knock you for hours.”  

   
 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Claire chuckled as they watched Ian's salt and pepper hair disappear into the crowd. Sarah took a few pictures of the crowd before turning to her again.  

“How are you? I hope you’re alright with the heat?” Sarah started, leading them towards a nearby table.  

   
 

"I'm great. Thank you for everything Mrs. Malcolm. Everyone's been so welcoming."  

   
 

“Glad you’re having fun! But call me Sarah.” She laughed again, placing the DSLR on the table. “Though technically, its Sarah Harding-Malcom. I didn't take Ian's last name when we got married."  

   
 

Claire's curiosity peaked. "May I ask why?" 

   
 

"Oh, you know...” She trailed off, stopped the passing server for two cosmopolitans. “Thanks Bert… Ian’s accomplishments are his as well as my accomplishments are mine...” They both took a sip.  

   
 

"I get it." Claire smiled, feeling more comfortable with the woman seated beside her.  

   
 

"See? I knew we're like kindred spirits." Sarah said, squeezing her forearm in a friendly gesture. "How about you? Are you seeing someone?"  

   
 

"Oh no, no. Too busy showing men how to get their jobs done." Claire smirked, feeling pride swell in her chest.  

   
 

"That's my girl. Of course you are." Sarah winked at her and tipped their glasses together.  

   
 

“Anyway, I was talking to Owen a while ago. He told me tomorrow's the consignment meeting? You guys must be pretty excited. Ian is."  

   
 

Claire nodded.  

   
 

The full transfer of property and sales would happen tomorrow.  

   
 

Claire narrated the events of this morning and filled her in, minus _some_ parts. 

   
 

Today was the last meeting and she couldn’t be more pleased with the decisions. Although, she felt a pang of worry when Owen didn’t show up. Lowery called her, apologizing that Owen cancelled his flight- which she already suspected. She knew she was wishing for the moon when she told him to go home, anyway. But still. He needs to rest and a proper hospital. Whatever. Don’t waste another breath, Claire.  

   
 

For the first 30 minutes, she had to remind herself of Owen’s lack of punctuality. After the first hour, she was ready to swallow her pride and ask his whereabouts when he entered the room with Ian. She released one tensed breath. The room stood to their attention but his eyes immediately flew to hers. Ian introduced him to the group who came up to him to shake his hand. He wore the sling brace he hated so much. True enough, it wrinkled the dress shirt he was wearing. He sat across her. Ian sat between them, at the center of the table.  

   
 

At some point during the meeting, he leaned forward and passed her notes, “Hey?” Before another one after a minute “I’m sorry for yesterday.” She glanced at Ian who was repressing a smile. His long and ring-ed fingers curled around his lips.  

   
 

She ignored his notes and paid attention on the presentation. As she was writing down the names of the current investors, another scratch of paper found its way to her. . “Lunch?” She looked up at Owen who quickly turned his head towards the screen, smirking for all he's worth. Claire flipped the post-it and wrote, “NO! Focus! You little dipshit.” And glowered at him for good measure.  

   
 

She stole another peek at Ian again, who was nodding at something the presenter said. She slipped the note but a breeze must have blown it because Ian pealed with laughter. In his hand was the piece of paper. He passed it to Owen who didn’t look the slightest bit concerned. Whereas her cheeks redden with humiliation. When the meeting ended, she was the first to excuse herself out. Claire’s been avoiding him since yesterday’s outburst. She couldn’t remember the last time she overreacted. _That_ _always_ _seem to_ _happen with him_. She frowned at the thought. Grateful that the island was big enough for them not to cross paths.  

   
 

“What? You’re leaving?” Sarah lamented when she finished.  

   
 

“I am. My bags all packed.”  

   
 

“You couldn’t stay for the weekend? Ian’s birthday is coming up.”  

   
 

“I wish I could.” Sarah’s face expressed her disappointment that Claire felt bad. So she added, “But I’ll see what I can do.”  

   
 

“Please? I’m sure Owen wouldn’t mind. We want you here. Speaking of whom, he told me you grew up in Wisconsin?”  

   
 

“Madison. My mom and sister still live there.” she replied, nursing the drink Sarah gave her. Claire wouldn't to gulp it all at once, no matter the temptation. The last time she got drunk out of her senses still fresh in her mind.  

   
 

“Yeah? I used to teach Paleontology at UW for a couple of years. 1995.”  

   
 

“Really? My mom taught History there in the 1990s.” Claire announced.  

   
 

“Small world.”  

   
 

The two women discussed about Madison, the island and Sarah's photography career. Claire couldn't help but be in awe of the woman in front of her. Sarah was the epitome of an independent woman who terribly was reminding her of her mom.  

   
 

Around them, the party continued deeper into the night and livelier than ever.  

   
 

Sarah was showing her the pictures she took that evening when Ian appeared. His feet dancing by their side. He was wearing a gaucho straw sombrero with red poms he filched from one of the players. A maraca raised in one hand, the other on his stomach. His hip swaying in tune with the upbeat music. Claire and Sarah held on to each other as they doubled over with mirth. The crowd around them hooted as well, even more so when Ian extended a hand for Sarah to take.  

   
 

Claire watched the couple took the centre stage. Others joined in as well. Their feet making knocking sounds against the makeshift floor. The people who were standing by the sidelines clapped over them. Claire found herself laughing and cheering too as Ian dipped Sarah. He then covered their heads with the straw hat before he kissed her.  

   
 

She took another sip before she continued browsing the camera pictures. Owen appeared in the later frames. He was wearing a blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up and buttoned to his bicep and khaki cargo pants. An identical necklace of flowers also hung around his neck. There were several pictures of the trio. A particular shot made her smile. He had his arms around Sarah and he was kissing her cheek while Ian beamed at the camera. They looked like a family.  

   
 

"You know, if you're gonna stare at my picture, better look at the real thing." She heard a distinct voice joked behind her.  

   
 

“Were you spying on me?” she accused brazenly, watching Owen laughed and occupy Sarah's seat.  

   
 

“No. I just got off the phone with Zia.”  

   
 

Claire straightened up, “And?”  

   
 

“They caught Antonio transferring illegal money from headquarters to a private account. They got him just in time. He’s waiting trial along with Nedry. Zia said it'll be quick.”  

   
 

“For real?”  

   
 

He nodded, grinning at her.  

   
 

“That’a good news. We can replace him with someone better. Morris would be perfect.” The cogs in her overworked brain turning. "What do you think?" 

   
 

“All settled then." he approved. 

   
 

"Great. I'll arrange it first thing on Monday." 

   
 

A minute of silence ensued before Owen clapped a hand on the table and stood up. “ Now, come on. That dress is being wasted sitting down.”  

   
 

Claire almost spilt her drink. “You think you’re so smooth, don’t you?”  

   
 

“Believe me Miss Dearing. You’re quite the challenge.”  

   
 

“Does that make me special?” She criticized though amused.  

   
 

“Not at all.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards, his hand opening for her. “Let’s see you can last five minutes in those ridiculous shoes.”  

   
 

Maybe it was the ambiance of the night. Or the whisper of the summer wind against them. The pleasant acoustic melody of the guitars. Or the display of camaraderie that made her accept his hand.  

   
 

He placed a bandaged hand at the middle of her back. The other holding her hand. He stepped closer while Claire hesitated. He let out a short, low laugh that she felt vibrated through her.  

   
 

“You can relax. I won’t bite unless provoked, you know.”  

   
 

“I’m not.” she scowled, earning another laugh from him.  

   
 

“I’m not gonna say anything more, in case, I ruined this.” He said, smugness and mischief in his tone.  

   
 

“That’s very considerate of you.” She said, sarcastically.  

   
 

“Well, what can I say?”  

   
 

The music slowed as they shifted from foot to foot. The lights above them incomparable to the spark behind his eyes.  

   
 

“Stay for a few days.” He muttered.  

   
 

“Are you still aware that we’re running companies?” She retorted, emphasizing the “S”. The mountain of paperworks' gonna be horrendous now that's Antonio's taken care of. She could imagine it.  

“You need a break. We both do.”  

   
 

“I was not the one who's been unconscious for weeks. You do. You stay.” She replied. The dark circles around his eyes and the roughness of his voice now absent. His skin glowing with a healthy, bronze tan. His scruff trimmed and maintained. Although, he looked well-rested now, he still needed to recover. And this looked like the place that could help him.  

   
 

He scoffed. “I’m your boss. I’m telling you to stay.”  

   
 

She craned her neck up at him. “Wow. You’re playing the boss card?”  

   
 

“I guess.” he smiled sheepishly, squinting his eyes. “Did it work?”  

   
 

“Not a bit, no.” wrinkling her nose.  

   
 

Owen chuckled and rested his cheek against her temple. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her ear. She found herself leaning in more, allowing him to lead her through the song.  

   
 

“This was a good idea. Wasn’t it?” He continued in a low voice.  

   
 

“What is?”  

   
 

“This. The park.”  

   
 

“Are you having second thoughts?”  

   
 

He chuckled again before he pulled away and twirled her. “No. But I don’t wanna come across as impulsive. The prodigal son who likes spending daddy’s money. Tell me what you really think. I know you won’t bullshit me.”  

   
 

His face was serious, so unlike of him that she couldn’t help but smile. “You did good. One of your many impulsive decisions that I approved of.”  

   
 

He didn’t say anything but stared at her.  

   
 

“He would have been proud of you, you know. Alan always spoke highly of you. I can never get him to shut up. Your impulsiveness, recklessness, not to mention your lack of time management had its merits after all.” With that, Owen threw his head back and laughed.  

   
 

“And you are sensible, hardcore and controlling. I say, we make a pretty good team, Miss Dearing.”  

   
 

It was a while after she spoke. Her body thrumming with nervous energy from their distance. Or lack of.  

   
 

“I guess we do.” She whispered, staring up to his sincere eyes, hypnotized.  

   
 

“You know what still bothers me though?” Owen snickered, pushing her away so they stand side by side.  

   
 

“What?” Her left arm extended.  

   
 

“That my dad never told me about you.” He tugger her back.  

   
 

There was something funny about the innocent betrayal on his face when he said it that she laughed out loud.  

   
 

“Not once. What the hell is that about?” He blamed but couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice.  

   
 

“It is a mystery.” She said when she collected herself. The smile planted on her lips.  

   
 

With one hand still on her body, Owen reached for the necklace around his neck and plucked a flower from it. He tucked it behind her ear.  

   
 

“Yeah, It is.” His gaze fell down. She gulped, biting her tongue as she fought the urge not to lick her dry lips. He leaned in. The tip of his nose tracing the line of hers. His warm breath sending shockwaves to every nerve of her body. She could hear the rapid heartbeat which mirrored her own. 

   
 

He sighed and moved his head to resume their previous position. To her disappointment.  

   
 

“Don’t worry about my arm. I’m gonna wear that sling you love so much tomorrow.” He taunted, disgust in his voice.  

   
 

She rolled her eyes. “Don't get me started, Grady. Why didn’t you wear it today?”  

   
 

“And lose the chance to dance with you? No way!”  

   
 

“Well. If you did, I could lead you.” She gibed, biting her lips to keep the grin from tearing her face.  

   
 

He groaned. “Why are you always trying to emasculate me?”  

   
 

She didn’t know how much time passed. Too occupied by how he was rubbing soothing circles on her back. The rise and fall of his chest, in sync with hers. How sturdy and warm he was against the softness of her body. A perfect contrast, she could admit.  

   
 

“I never thanked you.” He muttered, out of the blue.  

   
 

“For what?”  

   
 

“For your work. For my dad. For everything. He halted his steps, making her stop as well. “Thank you, Claire.”  

   
 

“No need to thank me. I was just doing my job.” She pulled away and looked at him.  

   
 

“Were you?” the smile and twinkle in his eyes could give the stars a run for their own money. “Were you just doing your job?”  

   
 

“What made you say that?”  

   
 

“You tell me.”  

   
 

It was as if she left her body. His eyes locked on hers. It was as if everything became hazy when he brought their right hands and he briefly touched warm lips on her knuckles. He then rested it on his chest. Claire felt like gravity pulled her in. _Did he knew?_  

   
 

The hand holding her back pulled her closer, one leg now between his. He slid his bandaged hand up her cheek. It was rough against her burning skin. Claire felt a squirming sensation in her stomach. The last thing she saw was Owen staring at her lips. She closed her eyes in anticipation.  

   
 

Until, she felt something wet drop on her forehead.  

   
 

She hasn’t open her eyes yet when the sky poured bucketloads of water. No warning whatsoever. The shrieks and the fading out trumpet noises brought her back. Owen cursed behind his laugh and intertwined their hands. Tugging them both to safety from the harsh, abrupt rain.  

 

* * *

  
 

The rain had come and gone for the last thirty minutes. Sarah, Ian and Owen handed out towels and coffees for everybody. Everybody laughed it off, as if it was always expected. When the rain subsided, Claire volunteered to drive the staff who can’t travel back to the village via foot or motorcycles. 

   
 

It was nearing midnight when she parked the car by the hotel parking lot, across the staff village.  

   
 

“Thanks again, Claire! Goodnight Claire! See you guys tomorrow!” They shouted back at her. Claire waved back at them. 

   
 

“They like you.” Owen pointed out from behind her. 

   
 

“That’s because I offered them a ride.”  

   
 

“Stop discrediting yourself too much. Come on, I’ll walk you to the lobby.” Owen put his hands inside his pockets.  

   
 

The lobby was deserted, as suspected at this hour. The fixtures dimmed and only the faint pitter latter of the rain outside broke the silence. The kid behind the reception desk, stood up clumsily from his sleep to greet them.  

   
 

“Don’t let the bed bugs— or the mosquitoes bite, Claire.” Owen quipped.  

   
 

She entered the elevator, pressed the button of her floor. “See you tomorrow, Grady.”  

   
 

“I’m counting on it.” He smiled, pouring all the warmth of the sun on it.  

   
 

The elevators closed in on her and then she was alone. Claire stared at the lit elevator button, aware of the empty feeling in her bones.  

   
 

The lights in hallway were also dimmed that she had to went under a wall lamp to find her key card. Her phone dropped from her rummage and she cursed. When she bent to pick it up, something fell from her hair. The reddish-orange plumeria Owen gave her never looked more beautiful than that moment. She smiled as she twirled it in her fingers.  

   
 

Then, something clicked in her. Her face contorted to a realisation. Her insides fluttered with a tingling feeling, her heart picking up a pace. Claire felt light-headed and she knew it had nothing to do with the drink she didn’t even finish. She sprinted towards the elevator and pressed the elevator buttons, down.  

   
 

“Hurry up!” She exasperated as if pressing the buttons harder would quicken the lift.  

   
 

The elevator pinged and she almost tripped getting in. This might have been the longest elevator ride of her entire life. She didn’t want to think. Didn’t want her rational side to remind her that this was gonna be a bad idea again. She bounced on her heels. The floor was now on the 8th… 7th… 6th… Claire was never used to letting her feelings rule her head. She’s always been level headed. The walls she built had kept away any emotional entanglement she thought was a waste of time and effort. Right now though, she could feel a section of it crumble at the thought of strong arms and hazel green eyes.  

   
 

The doors haven't completely opened when she stumbled out into the empty lobby. Except the bellboy who was now snoozing on the desk.  

   
 

She saw his figure running back towards the staff village. His thrown up hands shielding his head from the rain. Claire felt that sinking feeling again. Without thinking, she ran towards the revolving doors. The rain had picked up again, sending warm slashes across her skin. Her line of sight blurred from the torrent of water and low lights.  

   
 

She called out, “Owen!” A helpless cry against the racket of rainfall. She seemed to have lost her ability to think. All her inhibitions evaporated with the rain. She took off her heels, ready to sprung. 

   
 

When a muffled voice cried from behind her.  

   
 

“What the hell are you doing there? It’s raining!”  

   
 

On instinct, she turned her head and there he was looking all confused and annoyed. Claire didn’t know but she let out a choking gasp. She pushed the doors and hurried to him, wobbling knees and all.  

   
 

“What’s wrong?” Owen was walking towards her. “Claire? Claire? Claire, are you hur-oomph!”  

   
 

She didn’t let him finish when she slammed her body against his and kissed him. Like how she always wanted to.  

   
 

He wavered for the first few seconds before he groaned and gathered her in his arms. He lifted her a few inches off the floor. She parted his lips. His tongue, as sharp as their arguments, welcomed hers. Her adrenaline on high and expressed in the torrid gesture. Their bodies so close it didn’t leave enough distance to touch each other. She could feel every delicious inch of him, her fingers aching to feel whatever part of his body. He must have read her mind because he set her down and pushed her towards a wall? a column? She didn’t know. But the hand behind her head did soften the blow. Their hands, everywhere all at once, reacquainting themselves. He pushed into her further. The hardness of his body making her bold and irrational, like she thought it would. Claire more than welcomed its weakness. She bit his lip when he pulled away.  

   
 

She heard the words he was saying but all she could think was how she needed him. How she needed to lose herself to him, feel him and know he's here, he's okay and not a figment of her imagination.  

   
 

“Are you sure?” he leaned his forehead against hers. The world finally coming into focus.  

   
 

She nodded.  

   
 

With her eyes on his chin and all the courage she ever had, she mumbled. “Stay with me, tonight.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh! *fans over self* 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter has a lot of talking. I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me but I did like writing Ian Malcolm bits. I've read a lot about PTSDs, anxiety and panic attacks. This chapter deals with Claire’s which for me has to be out there first before anything else. Stay with me. I’m gonna make it worth it... I hope. :) 
> 
>  
> 
> For me, love takes a lot of convincing especially for the people who's been traumatised with the wrong kinds of love. Keep in mind that Claire never had someone to look up to in terms of successful relationships. And by talking to Jane and Sarah, who have had successful love stories of their own, it made her want to, at least give it a try. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading and your comments, corrections are always welcome and appreciated. Chapter 11 is underway.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if it's feels like all cramped into one. it's supposed to be oneshot only but while writing it, I gained a few more ideas (which are kinda sexy ones too). So, if anyone liked this, I could probably do more. The rating would change too.  
> But this was fun. Please correct me for any grammatical errors or anything. :)


End file.
